In the Silence of the Night
by graceofnight
Summary: Santa Clause fic. 1858 A.D. Dark times have fallen on the elves at the North Pole, especially Head Elf, Bernard. Things change, though when a human girl accidentally ends up at the Pole, determined to make it right. Before the movies. May be T later.
1. When the Snow Lay All About

I'm hoping that some of you Bernard groupies are still around and reading Bernard fanfics. Honestly, this isn't much of a Santa Clause fanfic, as he's (and a few of the elves) the only one in it.

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The workshop was filled with whispers of confusion and shock. As the gathering of elves stared at the figure lying in the back of the sleigh, infinite questions filled the minds of all the elves. Who was she? How did she get here? She isn't an elf; her ears were rounded. All of the elves by now had ceased their work and were either gathered around the sleigh or looking over the balconies, all to gaze at the wonder within the sleigh.

_noelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelenoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelnoelenoel_

Lydia Hightower moaned softly as she came slowly into consciousness. She heard what sounded like a wall of gasps from all around her. She wearily half opened her eyes, but at first she saw only groups of richly colored blurs leaning over her.

Where am I? she thought. But as soon as she asked herself this, a series of images flashed across her mind. She could vaguely remember. Rain. Fire. Screaming. Her uncle. Uncle William. She remembered now. It had been raining. They had been attacked. The screams had come from her and the fire came from their attackers. That was all she could remember. How did she get here? And more to the point, where was here?

In a moment, however, it no longer mattered. Lydia Hightower's body went rigid as a roar of pain seared through her arm and shoulder. However painful her few memories were, they paled in comparison to the physical pain she was experiencing now. She had enough strength left to diagnose the pain as a dislocated shoulder before she passed out again.

_joyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoyjoy_

"What is going on here? Why have you all stopped working?" a most disgruntled Bernard said as he strode up to the gathering of elves. Sure, he thought angrily, tonight was a cause for some celebration, even for the elves, whose existence had fallen into a slight darkness in the past decade or so (it was really quite hard to keep track of something such as redundant as the number of years that passed, when you lived as long as an elf did), but this was ridiculous. Even an event that was meant to be as joyous as Christmas was no excuse to mess around and neglect work that needed to be done.

Once he reached the sleigh, which seemed to be the center of the elves main attention, Bernard was fully prepared to chastise the elves further, until he noticed what exactly had called for such scrutiny.

Lying in the back of the sleigh, wrapped in a large weatherworn duster, was a girl.

Bernard's aggravation dissipated so rapidly, he could feel it. He felt himself leaning over in order to gain a better look at this strange visitor. She looked like she could have been anywhere between 14 and 17 years old. Bernard could not help but notice she was quite beautiful. Her alabaster skin was slightly flushed from the severe cold of the Pole and snowflakes clung lightly to her chestnut hair, which rimmed her lovely face in a curtain of silk.

As beautiful as she was however, Bernard took note of how she looked like she'd been through some sort of hell. She had long gash along her cheek that allowed blood to trickle over her face and shadows lingered beneath her eyes. What really startled him though, was the bizarre angle in which her right arm was held.

Although Bernard didn't know much about injuries, he figured the mangled arm had to be at least broken. The girl obviously needed attention, but how could she get it? His instructions were simple: any injuries were to be documented and reported, immediately. He was sure however, if his boss found out about the poor girl, the result would not be entirely pleasant.

Bernard did some quick thinking in his head, before he had a slight epiphany. He did a quick turn on his heel and faced all the elves. As he cleared his throat loudly the room got very quiet. "All will be taken care of. There's nothing more to see. Back to work, please."

He stood and watched until all of the elves reluctantly returned to their duties and then called over one of the elves he trusted most, an inventor, by the name of Quinton. The elf was young but very promising and he already had a lot of new ideas gliding surreptitiously around in the gears of his head.

"Quinton, I need your help."

"What can I do, Bernard?"

"We need to get the girl up to my room."

"Bernard, is that entirely proper?"

"I really don't care if it's proper, Quinton. What I do care about is what will happen to her if she's discovered."

"Ai, sir."

They looked around a moment to make sure all the other elves were safely busy before carrying out there plan.

Exactly twelve minutes and 18 seconds later (they had had to take the long way, so as not to be seen) the two elves were laying the girl as gently as they could on Bernard's bed. The older elf then looked at the other and said, "You go on Quinton. I'll take care of her."

"Are you sure? I can stay."

"No, I don't want you getting into trouble. And I may need your help later."

"Alright. And Bernard?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful," the plucky elf said and stayed just long enough to see his superior flash him a smile and vanished.

"Now," Bernard said to himself and the unconscious girl laying in front of him, "What do I do?"

He leaned over the girl and sighed. He stood up straight and sighed again. This pattern ensued for a couple minutes until Bernard cautiously leaned down once more and, after the proper moment's hesitation, tapped the girl lightly on the shoulder and spoke to her hesitantly.

"Miss…uh…miss-"

The poor elf, who had seldom in his several hundred years encountered a human, much less under these circumstances, was not prepared for the pained face to jolt into animation. Her eyes flew open momentary and clamped shut again in torment, and the girl gasped and convulsed in agony. She grabbed Bernard's arm in a vice-like grip and her face declared her anguish.

"Uh...are you...uh...who are you?" Bernard babbled almost incoherently.

"Later," a weak voice said through gritted teeth.

"What?"

"Later! Please!" the girl seethed.

"Oh! What can I do?"

"Take my arm."

"What?"

"Take my arm!"

Bernard grabbed the girl's dislocated arm, a little too roughly and the girl gasped in pain.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Bernard said quickly, but the girl shook her head.

"Now, do exactly as I tell you. When I say to, muster all your strength and pull my arm as hard as you can."

Bernard's eyes widened as he took in her instructions. "I can't!"

"Of course you can! You must!" she looked at him through pained, pleading eyes. "Please."

Bernard found he couldn't resist the suffering in her grey eyes. He swallowed and nodded.

"Alright. On the count of three. One. Two." Bernard and the girl both took a breath. "Three!"

Tears sprang from the girl's eyes as a scream escaped her lips and the feverish color fled from her face.

"Oh my-! I'm sorry!"

"You hesitated!" the girl accused, her teeth gritted. "We must try again!"

"Oh no! I can't!"

"Yes you can! I promise. Don't hesitate this time! Just take a deep breath and close your eyes. At the count of three, pull with all the strength you can muster. Please. You can do this. Please!"

Once again, Bernard nodded and he clamped his eyes shut.

"One. Two...Three!"

This time, a cry escaped Bernard's lips as a loud pop issued into the air. Bernard, thinking he had hurt the girl badly began apologizing again, in vain.

The girl laughed. She took Bernard's face in her hands, and forced him to look into her face, which although it was shining with sweat and tears, had begun to regain normal color.

"It's alright! You did it!"

"I did?"

The girl took one of Bernard's trembling hands in her own.

"Lydia Hightower."

Bernard, elated with his success and relief at not having hurt the girl a second time, stammered through the introduction. "B-B-B-Bernard!"

"Thank you Bernard," Lydia said, smiling. She let out a relaxed sigh before falling back into unconsciousness.

_Great,_ thought Bernard, _now what am I supposed to do?_

TBC

A/N: Review please. I promise I'll update faster if you do, and my little Basset hound will cry and howl and look pitiful if you don't. I don't even know if any of you are still interested. I know it's only a few days till Christmas but I'll probably keep writing after.


	2. Hold You In Their Precious Keep

Bernard was feeling quite useless at the moment. The girl, _Lydia,_was still unconscious in his bed. And elves were not immune to gossip. Not ten minutes before, a group of the younger ones, only about 700 years old, had congregated around his door, trying to see what was happening in there. Bernard had sent them all away with fleas in their ears, whatever that meant.

Now, however, he had no idea what to do. What was one to do with an unconscious young female? He wasn't stupid. He had covered her up when he noticed that she was shivering badly. But it was then that he realized that this might not be quite enough.

Blood still trickled down the girl's pale cheek. Bernard realized he'd never seen human blood before. He thought bemusedly that it looked a lot like elf blood, but less shimmery. Not that he'd seen that much of either. He hated blood and avoided injuries like a plague. They all did. Especially with _him_ – Bernard shook his curly head. He needed to clean up her face before the cut got infected. Besides, he didn't want her blood on his sheets.

Bernard reached into the bag perpetually slung over his shoulder and pulled out a gold and red striped handkerchief. He wet the tip of it with some snow that had piled on the sill just outside his window and beginning dabbing at the blood staining Lydia Hightower's ivory face. Blood stained the gold of the cloth, but he supposed it was for a good cause.

A sudden knock at the door sent Bernard nearly jumping out of his skin. He cautiously went to the door and opened it just enough to see who was there.

"Hi, Bernard," a cheerful voice said, "I brought you some cocoa."

"Judy!" Bernard did some very quick thinking. "Can you keep a secret? It's kind of important."

"Sure," the little she-elf said, nodding.

"Good, because I need your help. Come in quick!" replied Bernard, relieved to have someone (particularly a girl) who he could trust.

As soon as Judy was inside, Bernard quickly shut and relocked the door. Judy hadn't even put down her tray when she let out a gasp of surprise at the contents of Bernard's bed.

"Where'd she come from?"

"I don't know," Bernard replied, somewhat exasperatedly. "And I don't know what to do with her. When she wakes up I mean."

"Can't you send home by magic?"

Bernard shook his head in frustration. "No. Only Santa can use that magic."

"Well, then I don't know what to do."

"Santa can't find out she's here," Bernard said emphatically.

Judy shook her head in agreement, "Do you have any idea what happened to her?"

"She hurt her arm pretty badly but it seems to be better now," Bernard said, repressing a shudder at the recent memory of the sound of the girl's shoulder popping back into place. "I don't have any idea how long she was hiding in the sled. Or why."

Judy had gone over to the girl and was looking over her curiously. A slight frown creased her forehead.

"Any ideas?" Bernard said hopefully.

"She must have been freezing. I'll bring some more cocoa when she wakes up."

Bernard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Cocoa seemed to be Judy's solution for just about everything from a slight chill to a roof leak. But he really wanted her help.

"And then?"

"And then she'll need some clothes. Hers look torn to shreds."

Until then, Bernard hadn't noticed anything about the girl's clothes. Once Judy had pointed it out, however, he realized that the girl's dress was riddled with tears and was actually quite filthy. Alright the girl would need some clothes.

"There's still the question of what to do with her when she wakes up."

"I don't know, Bernard. But, I'm sure you'll think of something."

Bernard sighed. He'd have to think of something. It wasn't as though she could stay at the North Pole forever. Bernard was sure someone would eventually notice a human girl wandering around all over the place.

"Alright. Thanks, Judy. You should probably go."

Judy nodded in agreement and headed toward the door.

"And Judy-!" Bernard called, stopping her before she left, "Not a word to anyone about this, alright?"

"Of course, Bernard," she said, being careful to close the door behind her as she left.

She had not gotten far, however, when a sharp voice called from the end of the hall.

"Judy!"

Judy turned suddenly around, startled.

"Y-yes sir?"

"What were you up to just now?" her boss said, with a seedy grin.

"Just bringing Bernard some cocoa, sir."

"No..._shenanigans_ with the Head Elf?" he said, his speech slurring.

"No, sir!" she said, aching for this dreadful interview to be over.

Santa laughed drunkenly. "Don't forget to bring me my refreshment."

"Yes, sir," she said, as he patted her heavily on the shoulder. Her boss walked away, staggering slightly, and she breathed a quite, but heavy, sigh of relief, for her sake, as well as the occupants of the Head Elf's bedroom.

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A/N: Sorry for how short this is. This chapter isn't as good as the last one, but I really wanted to finish it before Christmas Eve. I have no qualms about the slight cliff-hanger I left you with. Mua hah haa! I would, however, like to thank all three of the lovely people who have left me such kind reviews. I really appreciate it! And I'll try to have another chapter up by Christmas.


	3. A Young Boy With Old Eyes

_Lydia Hightower shivered beneath her uncle's overcoat as he urged the horse onward._

"_Who are they, Uncle?" she shouted over the din of wind and the heaving breaths of the exhausted horse. _

"_I don't know!" her Uncle yelled, cracking the reins again. _

_The night was dark as pitch on Christmas Eve, as the four-wheeler careened upon the wood-flanked road. Lydia had no idea who was chasing them, or why. She know only that their pursuers followed them onto the straight, narrow road and now there was no where for the coach to turn and escape. A scream cut through the night as the coach veered off the road and slammed into a tree, turning on its side. Lydia pushed herself away from the wreckage, as the sound of footsteps beat closer…_

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Lydia Hightower woke with a start and a gasp, unable to recall what she had been dreaming about. She was briefly surprised to find that the comfortable bed she was lying in was not her bed in the home she shared in England with her Uncle William, but somewhere seemingly foreign to her. Looking about the dark room, however, she remembered the events of the nights before. As image after painful image assaulted, her memory, she laid back down for a moment, digesting what she knew of her situation, the majority of which was that she had no idea where she was and very little idea of how she got there.

Then she saw the figure of the curly haired boy, sleeping in the chair beside her. Everything about his costume was strange, from his red and gold embroidered tunic, to his soft pointed shoes and all the way up to his green velvet beret that crowned his dark curly head. His clothing was by no means the strangest thing about him, however. She stood quietly, and on impulse, Lydia reached to softly touch the point of the boy's ear. In response to the contact, his mouth twitched into a slight grin; Lydia decided he might be rather handsome. Such a strange looking boy. A strange, handsome boy. _Bernard...That was his name. _

"Bernard..." she said softly, letting the name play across her tongue, like a connoisseur tasting a new exotic wine.

As though knowing that she had called him, his eyes fluttered open and eventually fell upon her. Seeing that she had woken him, she backed away, like a startled fox.

"You're awake," the boy said. The boy's accent was quite different from her own; this didn't quite explain everything, but it was a start.

"So are you," was her cautious reply. For a few seconds, the two just stared at each other, neither aware of just what to say to the other.

"Where am I?" Lydia said, asking an inevitable question that would be approached eventually anyway.

Bernard seemed to hesitate a moment. "My bedroom," he said, rather succinctly, "How's the arm?"

"It's still quite stiff, but better, thank you," she replied, noticing for the first time how close she was instinctively holding her arm to her body. She looked around and saw in the firelight that his bedroom was decorated richly in reds and greens and gold stitching and the style was like none she had ever seen. She could not help but wonder just how far away from home she truly was.

"If I may ask," she said, "How did I get here?"

"I was going to ask you that. You don't know?"

"No."

"Well, what do remember? What happened last night?"

Lydia struggled in her attempt to remember what had happened. "Uncle and I were riding home. We had been at a party, and we were coming home. Everything was fine, until...there was fire and – and noise. We were attacked. I don't know why. There wasn't much time for questions. Uncle told me to run and hide, that everything would be fine. So I climbed a tree. It was all dark and I couldn't see much. But I hadn't climbed a tree in years. A branch broke and I fell." Lydia winced at the memory of the pain accompanying her shoulder being forced out of placed as she landed on something only marginally soft. She shook her head. "The next thing I remember was waking up here. And you."

"Maybe you fell in the sleigh."

"The sleigh?"

"My... uh...master drives a sleigh. You must have fallen into it and when he came back, you came with it."

"How did he not notice that I was there?"

Bernard shrugged noncommittally. "Who knows?"

Lydia sighed. She wasn't getting the answers she wanted. This place...she wished she could remember more, but she must have fallen unconscious quickly after falling in the "sleigh." And she wasn't sure if this boy was being exactly helpful. She found his presence comforting however.

"Now tell me, what is this place? It's beautiful."

"I told you, my bedroom."

Lydia fixed him with stern and skeptical glare.

"Well, you're a bit north," he said, finally.

"How far north? The Holmes estate? Of course, that wouldn't account for the strange décor."

"A bit farther," Bernard said, "And I happen to like my room, thanks."

Bernard sighed as she fixed him with an imploring look.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, and then muttered under his breath, "They never do."

"Why wouldn't I? Such a nice boy like you, why shouldn't I trust you?"

"Well don't say I didn't warn you. We're at the North Pole."

Bernard smirked slightly as Lydia absorbed this announcement.

"How long have I been asleep?" Lydia had been prepared to prove him wrong and believe what he said, but this was too...She shook her head roughly, as though this would magically make it all better.

"Only a few hours I think," Bernard said, yawning slightly. "And shaking your head like that won't help."

Lydia sat down on the bed and stared out at nothing in particular. Bernard seemed to notice something was amiss, because he sat beside her and tried to wrest her from her state of shock.

"Look, I'm sorry. I know it's a shock. Most people don't believe it when they first get here. Just don't...you know..."

"I'm not prone to fainting, Bernard, if that's what you mean," she said, not looking at him.

"Oh. Well, we'll get it all sorted out. Promise."

"I don't understand, though. This isn't possible. It shouldn't be. I was in England. What you're saying cannot be true!"

"I'm afraid it is, though," Bernard said, rather gently. He still didn't seem reassured that she wasn't going to have an emotional collapse on him.

"How?" Lydia demanded.

Bernard sighed, trying to find the best answer to that. He settled on the truth. "Magic."

That wasn't quite enough for Lydia, though. She rushed toward the window. Bernard jumped up from where he had been sitting, and tried to stop her. "No! Don't! You'll be seen!"

But it was too late. Lydia ripped open the curtains, and was almost immediately regretful that she had. Partially anyway. Opening the window displayed to her one of the most beautiful sights she had ever witnessed. Snow glittered everywhere, but nothing like any snow she had ever seen before. It gleamed upon the ground and on rooftops and frosted in the windows as if it had been glazed in diamonds. Despite the cold, there seemed to be an inexplicable warmth to everything that, despite being lost and bewildered in a strange place, she felt happy and strangely at home here. Laughter reached her ears and she looked down to see dozens of children rushing about the ground. White smoke floated from the chimney tops but with none of the ugliness of the industries of urban cities. This was a beckoning blissfulness unrivaled by anything else. This was a magical place and she thought of her Uncle William. It was like something out of a fairy tale, something out of a story, a story she had heard a long long time ago. It was as though the scene were a page ripped from a book read to a gaggle of children huddled around a fire, eyes wide as they eagerly listened to the magic unfold in the winter's tale.

She turned around slowly, unwilling to give up the peace the window gave her.

"Tell me," she said, carefully, "How does a boy so young as yourself have such old eyes?"

"I'm older than I look," was his answer.

She walked to Bernard, who stared back at her, unsure of how she would react. She reached up toward the side of his head, gently brushing curls away.

"Watch the hair!" he exclaimed, trying to bat her hand away. She remained determined, however. He twitched slightly as she brushed her fingers over the point of his ear.

"Oh my goodness," she said, softly, "You're an elf!"

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A/N: Yes, Bernard **_**does**_** have ticklish ears. **


	4. A Floweret Bright

**Ok, first of all, I want to sincerely apologize for being so long updating. I've had a terrible onslaught of crapstorms, but today I forced myself to sit down and finish this chapter. Second of all, thanks for all the kind reviews I've received. So here it is, in all its glory. (Oh yeah, I don't own Bernard, Quinton or Judy. Lydia Hightower, her Uncle and this particular Santa are mine, mine ALL MINE! MUA HAHAHAA!! ahem...erm...yeah...on with the chapter)  
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**A Floweret Bright**

"_My goodness. You're an elf!"_

_Bernard resisted a sigh. He had seen this coming a mile away. He braced himself valiantly for the inevitable onslaught of disbelief and self-diagnosed insanity that this girl was about to bombard him with. _

_The girl smiled, broadly and brightly. With a merry laugh, she tugged gently on one of his curls and released it, allowing it to spring right back into place. _

_Had this been a cartoon, there would have been a question mark over Bernard's head. _

The girl, Lydia, who didn't seem to mind at all that she was stranded in a magical but supposedly mythical place and sitting in the bedroom of an equally mythical creature, was now perched on the edge of his bed. They were currently trying to solve the predicament of how to get her home.

"Am I really fit to travel, though?"

Bernard liked her accent. Her voice sounded foundationally English, but she must have traveled a lot, because it was as though the accents of several different places had latched onto her original one.

"No, no, I guess not." Bernard had no idea why he lied, but they did have some time. Besides, the girl was interesting, and it was nice having someone to talk to other than elves centuries his junior. She was mature without being an adult.

"So, uh...we should probably get you out of those clothes."

Lydia cocked her head to one side. Comprehension took its own sweet time reaching Bernard's head, and as soon as it did, he still couldn't find it in him to cover what he had just said.

"I didn't – I – I – umm..."

Lydia laughed a little, but her smile faded slightly as she looked down at her rather grungy appearance.

"I suppose you're right. I'm likely to catch cold if I stay in these wet clothes. I don't suppose there might be something here I could borrow?"

"I don't think any of the elf-girls' clothes will fit you. Not that you're – you know – _large_ or anything."

Lydia laughed as a faint blush crept over Bernard's face. "Not at all. But are there no elf-girls your age?"

"No. I'm the oldest."

"How old are you?" she said.

"_Old_," he said with a pointed look. "If you don't mind, you'll have to do with some of my clothes."

"I don't mind at all!" she said, her face lighting up excitedly in the waning candlelight.

Bernard didn't know why she was so excited to wear his clothes and thought he ought to be mildly disturbed by it, but also supposed that he should be grateful that she wasn't putting up a fuss like he expected her to. He said nothing. He turned on his heel wordlessly and began rummaging around through drawers for clothes for her to wear. He ended up selecting a pair of brown trousers and a rich green tunic embroidered with gold thread. He hadn't worn the ensemble for some time but as dust didn't seem to accumulate at the North Pole, he didn't think she'd mind.

When he presented them to her, she accepted them gratefully. For a moment, they stood staring at each other, Bernard wondering why she didn't get on with it.

"Well, turn around!" she said crossly.

"Oh! Sorry," he said, quickly turning his back to her. He was definitely going to have to work on his graces with girls.

Lydia took longer than he would have expected to change, and he felt a pang of guilt when he realized that she must be struggling to gingerly maneuver her arm in and out of the clothes. Bernard was then struck with one of his many brilliant moments. Taking his scarf from around his neck, he began to tie it and shape it until he felt that he had it just about right.

"You can turn around now," he heard her say.

"How do I look?" she said exuberantly, turning about in a circle, as though she were wearing a luxuriant gown.

"Like an elf."

Indeed she did. His clothes, quite extraordinarily, fit quite as well as they would had they been made for her, flattering her in a way they never could have done for him. (Although, had they flattered him in the same way they flattered her, that would be quite odd, but never mind.) But more than that, his clothes, seemed to really _fit_ her, like she really belonged in them more naturally than she did in her own English dress. All she was missing were the points on her ears.

She smiled coyly and Bernard realized that she was staring.

"What do you have there?" she asked.

"This is for you," Bernard said, presenting his knotted scarf to her proudly. She looked at it for a moment, her mouth trying to form a smile, but then settling into a perplexed frown.

"What is it?" she said.

"Here. Let me help you." He slipped the circle over her head and under her arm and gently pulled her arm through to rest on the soft fabric.

"A sling!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with gratitude like mother-of-pearl. The fit of the sling was perfect and her arm now rested in a recuperative position against her.

Somewhere nearby, a sharp bell abruptly pierced the air. Bernard leapt up as though the ring was a gunshot.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Lydia asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

"My…master is calling me," said Bernard. He tried not to allow that shiver to wriggle down his spine like it clearly wanted to. He already hated that concerned look that was currently etching itself over her face (which he was already finding strangely pretty, a thought he found mildly alarming).

"Your master? You mean..." A great eager smile spread across Lydia's face and simultaneously, the aforementioned chill succeeded in traveling quickly down Bernard's spine, managing to jar every last vertebra in the process. "Father Christmas himself?" All look of concern vanished from her face as Lydia grinned ecstatically.

"Yes," said Bernard, not liking where this was going. He could not mirror her excitement. Instead, a shiver of terror crossed his face, like a cold chill. Fortunately enough, Lydia didn't seem to notice.

"May I meet him?"

"No!" Bernard nearly shouted, with the air of one trying to stop someone from jumping in front of a moving train. At the alarmed look on Lydia's face, however, he attempted to cover. "I mean, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"May I ask why not?" she said politely. "Perhaps he can help me find a way home?"

"He's probably very, very tired. He's had a very long night."

"I understand," she said with a trace of disappointment. Bernard wanted to heave a great sigh of relief but thought better of it. But he needed to go quickly. If he kept him waiting...

"Alright. Stay here. I'll be back soon. Just _stay here_. Don't wander off!" he insisted earnestly.

"As you like," she said congenially, sitting on the edge of the bed, making herself comfortable.

As Bernard closed the door behind him, he took a deep breath, willing his spine to stop trembling and his palms to stop sweating. Bernard did not feel comfortable leaving her alone in his room. He was worried that someone might wander in and see her. The thought plagued him all the way to his master's quarters, and he didn't realize he had spent the whole trip thinking about Lydia until the imposingly tall oak door was staring him in the face.

And those pesky palms of his were still sweating. He wiped them quickly on his trousers to steel his nerves and knocked on the door.

"Come!" said a growling voice. Bernard complied wordlessly, opening the door and walking over the threshold. His master sat at the grand centuries old desk, sipping out of an antique stein. No one ever dared ask what was in it, but he was never very amiable once it was empty.

In a corner, Judy was packing a large trunk as fast as her arms would allow her to. She chanced a look at Bernard and he gave her a reassuring glance.

"Leave girl," their master said and in barely a moment, the door had closed again behind her.

"What took you so long?" his master barked angrily.

"Sorry sir."

Bernard braced himself as though he had been placed before an unrestrained rabid dog who was eyeing him hungrily, but the blow never fell.

"Sir, I thought you'd have left by now," Bernard said.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" was his master's answer. He drained the stein and hauled himself to his feet, gripping the desk for support until he and his girth were steady. Bernard watched in trepidation as he come around the desk and towered over the Head Elf.

"What was all the commotion about tonight?"

"Commotion, sir?"

"I heard the elves were excited about something. What was it? One of ya design a new style of wooden shoe? Or something a little more disruptive? Like a stowaway?"

"No sir. The elves were just excited about your successful return, sir."

"You know what I'd do if someone or something invaded our little playland, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," said Bernard, hoping his voice wasn't shaking as badly as he thought.

"And you know what I'd do to whoever helped them hide from me, right?"

"Yes, sir," said Bernard, his voice barely a whisper.

"You've always been quite the little sneak?" his master slurred out through a drunken grin. He grabbed Bernard's arm and gave it a hard squeeze.

"I'm leaving now. I'm warning you, Bartleby. There'd better not be any _funny business_ while I'm gone. Or there _will _be trouble. Ya understand?"

The drunken man's grip on Bernard's arm became so tight that Bernard bit back a yelp from the pain.

"Now get outta here!" Clause shouted, throwing Bernard's arm out of his grasp.

The Head Elf complied, forcing himself not to run to the door. As he closed it behind him, he caught a glimpse of his master looking angrily at his empty stein and yelling at one of the younger elves to refill it.

Sympathy for his younger brethren, especially Judy, stabbed at Bernard's heart like ice, wishing he could will all their grief and fear onto himself. But for now, his concerns lay elsewhere.

He rubbed the pain in his arm away. He just hoped that his legs stopped shaking by the time he got back to his room.

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**A/N: (Crouches under desk avoiding tomatoes and other projectiles.) I am such a horrible person!!**

**I'll try to update sooner. Reviews feed my plot monster and make him go faster. XOXO**


	5. Since We've No Place to Go

**Since We've No Place to Go**

Lydia sat on Bernard's bed, waiting patiently for him to return. Curiosity tempted her to go rummaging through his things, but she resisted. Her reservation ended up being for the best, for Bernard was not gone long. The smile she had worn to greet him when he returned faded quickly, for Lydia could immediately see that the exchange had not gone well. She had no way of knowing what had transpired between master and servant, but she felt that "not good" was rather a gross understatement. Bernard's face was a sickly, ashen grey and there was a ghost of a tremble in his hands. And it did not escape her notice that he had double checked that the door was locked.

What struck her truly however was the look he had failed to eradicate from his dark eyes. Lydia knew that servants commonly were expected to show due deference to their masters, but there was more than submission in Bernard's eyes. It was pure terror.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said far too quickly. The elf's face was still as pale as the snow outside his window. Lydia felt that surely he must be ill, and said as much, but Bernard shook his curly head.

"Elves don't get sick."

Bernard gripped the back of his neck. Lydia could tell her concerned scrutiny was making him nervous. Figuring that whatever might be bothering him, if anything, was really none of her business, she decided to let it go...for now.

"Good. Then I don't mind asking you this."

"What?"

"Well, I don't mean to seem like an unappreciative guest, but I've been locked in this room for hours. I would like to see more. Unless of course you don't think yourself qualified to give me the full tour."

Lydia grinned inwardly as Bernard's jaw fell open.

"I-how can you...oh alright," he agreed finally, "Bring your coat."

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Bernard decided to take Lydia through the village first. He didn't tell her however that the reason was that they would be able to disappear more easily should his master decided to linger about the Pole and spot her. Lydia never once objected and as she looked about wide-eyed at the spectacle surrounding her, Bernard could not help but be struck once more about how well she seemed to fit in the atmosphere. It was a thought that caused him both excitement and alarm. Yet, the elves that scurried about them, despite their situation and Bernard's misgivings, carried their own excited energy and the mood was infectious. Every few seconds, Lydia in her enthusiasm would twirl about in place, as if hoping to take in all the wonder about her at once. Bernard never stopped her, and on occasion, he caught himself smiling despite himself.

Every now and then, however, Bernard caught a few groups of elves becoming too involved in their merriment and barked at them to get back to work. At that point the elves in question would frown, grumble suspiciously under their breath and return to their duties. Lydia however, glanced back in time to catch the elves at their game: they would pretend to work for a few minutes and once Bernard was safely out of ear shot, the would-be revelers would jump right back to their celebration.

Lydia laughed at their joyful antics and turned back to Bernard with a frown.

"Must you be so hard on them?" she said.

"We have a lot of work to get done Lydia."

"But it's Christmas! Can they not have their revelry for one day? This is the most joyous day of the year. Why should they not celebrate?"

Bernard sighed heavily. A group of young elves gathered before him and looked at him pleadingly.

"Yeah, Bernard. Why can't we celebrate?" they asked, attempting to placate him with sad eyes and sweet smiles.

"I already told you all that we have too much work to get done before next year. Now get back to work before I-"

Bernard stopped abruptly when he felt something very cold and very wet collide with the back of his head and nearly knock his beret right off his curly head. The elves he had been reprimanding giggled. Bernard turned about slowly and venomously and Lydia stood before him, a proud smirk on her face and wiping the snow off her hands.

"You really shouldn't have done that," he said, "Now you're going to pay."

The elves bristled fearfully behind him, but the smirk never left Lydia's face.

"You wouldn't hurt an injured girl, now would you?" she responded.

Bernard bent and gathered a bunch of snow in his arms. His expression matched hers in a malicious grin as he molded the snow into a large imposing sphere. Bernard held it up threatening, poised to launch it straight at her, and to her credit, Lydia barely flinched. The elves all gasped and drew close together, anticipating the retributive blow to fall.

Suddenly then, Bernard turned straight on his heel and launched the snowball at the crowd of elves and, gathered as tightly as they were, not one of them escaped the blast untouched. Bernard grinned triumphantly at the silence that followed, for the elves were too shocked to speak. Then, breaking through the silence like glass, Lydia began to laugh. The tension thus broken, all it took was for someone to call out "SNOWBALL FIGHT!" and the battle was on. The merriment attracted the help of other elves passing by and soon the opposing armies were matched in size against one another. The ensuing battle lasted for what seemed like hours, after which both sides surrendered red faced, breathless and shaking from both the cold and adrenalin. After their victorious finish, Lydia stood wiping the snow off her trousers, a wide smile on her flushed face.

"I can have some girls' clothes made for you if you want," he said.

"That's quite alright. I'm fine like this," she reassured him, but Bernard frowned at her skeptically. "What? Nice girls don't wear elf clothes? I must say, it is far too difficult to become the champion of a snow battle in a dress. Besides, this is not quite the strangest thing I've ever worn."

"I don't want to know!" Bernard insisted.

Lydia's eyes sparkled as she laughed merrily. Bernard was just finding that he rather liked the sound, when an icy chill blew over them. Bernard's eyebrows furrowed themselves as he watched her wrap her heavy and worn ulster more snuggly around her; the two of them, after all, could have easily wrapped themselves in it together.

"It belongs to my uncle," she said gently, before lapsing into wistful silence at the man's generosity.

"Tell me about him," Bernard said. He led them onto a busy street and they walked side by side, as Lydia began to tell Bernard of her life outside the North Pole.

"My Uncle William is the greatest man I have ever known, surely one of the best in all the world. He took me in when I was a little girl when my parents died."

"Oh I'm sorry," Bernard said, frowning.

"That's alright," said Lydia, smiling at him reassuringly. "I've been very happy with Uncle William. He's taken me so many places. I've been all over the Continent, seen Paris and Rome and Athens and the temples of the gods. I've been to Egypt and tasted spices in India. I've visited with Indians in America and learned Eastern medicines in China. Uncle William says that the world in its infinite variety can teach things that can never be learned in boarding school. So he has had me tasted of their cultures and learn their ways. Even still, I've never been anywhere quite like this. I cannot wait to tell all about it."

Bernard thought to tell her that she ought not to tell her Uncle of the North Pole, but he couldn't find the heart. Instead, he found her words rolling and washing over him, as she told him of her wonderful life with the greatest man in the world and the sky seemed a little darker when he realized that she would have to go home soon.

This introspection was broken abruptly when he heard a loud, menacing growl and Lydia screamed. Before he saw what was happening Lydia leapt back into his arms and hid her face in his chest. Over her head, Bernard realized what had caused the commotion.

"Oh hello, Sigmund!" Bernard said brightly to the large polar bear whose job it was to direct the traffic in the Village Square.

"Hello Bernard!" Sigmund returned, tipping his constable's hat at the elf. "Whose the girl?"

Bernard looked down at the girl who was still shaking slightly in his arms.

"This is Lydia," he said. He shook the girl gently and whispered to her softly, "It's okay. Look."

Slowly and cautiously, Lydia lifted her head from Bernard's shoulder and looked up at the object of her fear. The bear stood before her, its teeth bore in a polite smile.

"Lydia, this is Sigmund. He directs traffic here in the square."

The bear held out a fluffy paw. Lydia looked up at Bernard for a moment, and reassured by the smile on his face, she returned the gesture and shook the bear's paw.

"Hello," she said with an embarrassed and bewildered tremor. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Sigmund growled. "Well, I better be getting back to my business. Nice seeing you both."

Lydia watched Sigmund's back as he turned and disappeared into the crowd. Once she could no longer see him, she burst into both nervous and delighted laughter, and despite himself, Bernard found himself joining in. The two of them then smiled pleasantly at each other, linked arms and set off down the snow covered street.

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me through another chapter. The calm before the storm. (Mua ha ha.) I appreciate all the wonderful reviews I've received so far and would love to have more. Feeding the plot monster makes him go faster! **


	6. Tidings of Comfort and Joy

**A/N: Wow. Okay. First of all, thank you to the incredibly nice person who alerted me to the fact that we now have our own Category. It's about time guys. Second of all, I must apologize profusely for the tardiness of this chapter. I know I claim this every time, but life, school and incurable writer's block kept getting in the way. I tried, honestly I tried to have this out on Christmas, but it just wasn't happening, and they way I figured it, it would be better to have a halfway decent chapter late than a really crappy chapter on time. A semester later, however, I still wasn't done. I'm just not a "chapter a day" kind of writer, though, and for that I apologize. I do plan for the next chapter to be quite a bit shorter, in hopes that I will get it done sooner. We'll see how that goes and if it's a better format for me to work with and get these chapters out shorter. **** Also, I have made changes to Chapter 3: A Young Boy with Old Eyes, which make it much more to my liking. ****So, if any of you are still interested in this story, on with Chapter 6: Tidings of Comfort and Joy.  
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The night after Bernard took her around the village, Lydia snuggled into the warmth of his coverlet happy with the promise of a tour of the factory the next day. And that night, as Bernard watched from the armchair as she curled deeper into the cushions in her sleep, he could not help but feel just a little excited about the day to come, when he could, for just a day, cast aside all the concerns that plagued him.

When Bernard took Lydia through the village, they blended into the scenery, and the elves, bears, and all else milling about paid them little attention. Now, they were in plain view of the elves working hard at their stations. Bernard took the time, though to introduce Lydia to several groups of elves, who happily put down their tools to greet the young girl. For all their work to bring happiness to young people all over the world, the elves of the North Pole hardly ever saw a child, especially these days. Lydia, in turn, beamed as the young-faced elves greeted her warmly, excited smiles spread across their sparkling cheeks.

Once a group of workers became very enthusiastic about explaining to Lydia the intricate details of a new toy engine they were working on, and Bernard barked at them to leave her be and get back to work. The group's collective expression became downcast and dejected, and Lydia nudged Bernard painfully in the ribs.

"Ow! What?" he said irritably.

It was then that Lydia chose to gently remind Bernard of their antics in the courtyard the day before and his animated participation. Not wanting it to become any more public that he was not quite the stuffed shirt that he seemed, he forced a smile at the elves and yanked Lydia away.

"You know," she said as they rounded a corner, "You won't be able to hide it from them forever. It's bound to spread throughout the factory that you-"

"Don't say it!" Bernard said.

"Really, Bernard. What's wrong with having a little fun?"

Bernard got the feeling that he was not going to win this argument and decided that the best course of action was to distract her and change the subject. He quickly steered her toward their newest department, Research and Development and introduced her to its head, a blonde haired elf named Quinton. Quinton had a serious face but bright happy eyes that shone as he shook Lydia's hand. His yellow hair hung in a waist length braid and his hands were calloused from many years of work.

"Miss Hightower, it's good to see you up and about. I-"

_**BANG!**_

Mid-sentence, there was a terrible crash and the floor of the workshop shook. Suddenly Quinton's placid face was red with anger.

"Curtis!" he shouted irritably.

Bernard and Lydia turned around and saw the remains of a table, now reduced to cinders, surrounded by broken glass and charred metal. A round ash-blacked face poked its way out of the rubble.

"I'm alright! Nobody panic!" the young elf said as he stumbled out of the wreckage. Not at all relieved by Curtis's pronouncement, Quinton and Bernard stormed over to him, Lydia hot on their heels.

"What did you do, Curtis?"

A sheepish look fell over Curtis's face, indicating that whatever it was that he did would probably make Quinton very angry.

"Elves are encouraged to experiment. Think outside the box."

"You're supposed to think outside the box, yes, but you've somehow managed to blow up the box and everything in it."

"Who's the girl?" said Curtis, quickly changing the subject.

"Curtis, this is Lydia Hightower," Bernard said, feigning cheerfulness through his tightly grit teeth. "She's from England."

"But the-!" Curtis began to protest.

"I realize that my stay here must be rather unorthodox, but as you can see, I'm not exactly fit to travel," Lydia said, gesturing toward her immobile arm.

At this pronouncement, both Quinton and Curtis fixed Bernard with bemused looks.

"Curtis, why don't you show Lydia around a bit, while I speak with Bernard," said Quinton, not taking his eyes off of Bernard. Curtis gave Lydia a searching once-over and grinned widely.

"Certainly! I would be glad to give Ms. Hightower a thorough tour of our brand new facilities."

He began to guide Lydia away, his arm clamped firmly about her waist. Lydia turned back, giving Bernard a look that was at once both questioning and pleading. Bernard answered with a reassuring nod that he didn't entirely believe. He turned back, hoping that Curtis's tour of the R&D Department ended better than he hoped. Quinton quickly rounded on him.

"Bernard, do you have any idea what you're doing?" Quinton said fervently.

"I'm just giving her a tour of the factory, Quinton. I think I'm qualified."

"You know what I mean. She could be in danger. _You _could be in danger," Quinton said. His voice was soft, and he spoke quickly and ardently.

"I know. I can handle it," Bernard quickly deflected.

"Good. Because I think she could be good for you."

Bernard gaped. He had been expecting Quinton to argue further about how much trouble he was getting himself into and tell him to get rid of Lydia and pretend she had never been here. Quinton had turned the conversation around so quickly that Bernard wasn't sure exactly what he should say.

"What do you mean?" he said slowly.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed?" Quinton said urgently. His voice rose slightly despite himself. "Things are worse than ever here, and most of it happens to you. This girl could give you some happiness. She could even help change things around here."

"Don't even suggest it, Quinton. She's just a girl!"

"I know that, but her coming here could be the start of something great. Our liberation..."

Bernard was about to voice another argument, when a female voice yelled irately, "How DARE you!?"

Then a resounding slap echoed through the room, followed by…

"OW!"

Bernard and Quinton gave each other a look of utter dread before rushing to the source of the cry of pain. They found Curtis doubled over, his hand covering a reddened cheek. Lydia stood over him with her arms crossed and anger clouding her face.

"What happened?" Bernard said, already venturing a couple of guesses.

"She HIT me!" complained Curtis.

"It serves you right!" Lydia said, fuming. "I find your conduct most inappropriate! And he said some awful things about you Bernard!"

"Curtis, what did you do?" said Bernard, rounding on Curtis.

"_Nothing!_ I merely suggested that you were very busy and that she might enjoy herself a _little_ more if I were conducting the tour with her. I was trying to lead her around the laboratory when she HIT me!"

"You conveniently excluded what your impudent little hands were up to!" Lydia spat.

"You know, no one likes a tattle tale!" Curtis said. Lydia's slap had managed to remove some of the ash from his face and the white skin beneath flushed red.

"Curtis, do us all a favor and go clean up the mess you just made," Bernard said with the air of someone trying very hard not to wrap his hands around another person's throat. Curtis seemed to pick up on the fact that he was in danger and trudged off to clean up what was left of the workbench. As Bernard led Lydia away, he turned to her and said,

"You have no idea how much he deserved that."

Over the next few weeks, Bernard showed Lydia every nook, cranny and department of the North Pole. The human girl seemed to enjoy herself a great deal, but as time wore on, it occurred to Bernard that something was troubling Lydia. Her obvious enjoyment of the North Pole and all the magic it offered made him very happy, but something about the way she shifted restlessly from one foot to the other whenever she saw a clock made it obvious that she was concerned about something. And he was determined to find out what it was, and make it go away if possible. One night a frown settled over her face and he took the opportunity.

"Alright, talk to me," he said.

"I'm sorry?" she said, shaken out of her thoughts.

"Something's been bothering you, I can tell. What's wrong?"

Lydia sighed. "I don't want you to think I'm not grateful for everything you've done for me, Bernard. It's just that…"

"You miss your uncle, don't you?" Bernard had thought as much.

"It's more than that. We were attacked on Christmas Eve. I need to know that he's all right," she said sadly.

"Well, it's understandable. He's your only family."

"I love it here Bernard. I really do," she explained urgently, "but he needs me. I've remained idle here long enough, and now that my arm's better -"

"You wanna go home." He wasn't sure why, but Bernard suddenly found the intricate pattern embroidered into his drapes very intriguing.

"I have to," said Lydia, touching his arm.

Bernard looked at her hand on his sleeve and nodded. "I understand."

He really did understand. Bernard knew that Lydia would not have been able to stay there forever, even if she didn't have anybody waiting at home for her. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Alright," he said, forcing himself to look her in the eye. "Tomorrow, I'll take you home."

Lydia squeezed his arm and smiled. "Thank you, Bernard."

* * *

Lydia stood in Bernard's bedroom, gazing out the window, trying to memorize every detail of the arctic village landscape. There was something very welcoming about the place that she was loathe to surrender. But for all her tumultuous childhood, she had been very blessed to find her Uncle William and she would not abandon him for anything in the world. Not even....

Bernard gripped her arm gently.

"Ready?" he asked. Lydia took one last farewell look about the room and nodded the affirmative. Bernard took her hands in his and Lydia found them surprisingly warm. She closed her eyes and a cool breeze and a scent of pine washed over her. She opened her eyes.

Before her was a paved pathway on a neat yard leading up to a modestly large house. Trees littered the yard, robbed by winter of their decoration, and smoke rose in a delicate line from a chimney at the southwest corner of the house.

The pair came to the door, and Lydia looked at Bernard with a sad smile.

"I will miss you," she said, "I have never met anyone like you before, nor am I likely to again."

"Not necessarily."

"There's not quite a ready supply of elfin boys in England."

"That's not really what I meant," said Bernard. Lydia thought for a moment that a flush had come to his face but dismissed it for the cold. She touched Bernard's arm and said, "Won't you come in with me?"

Bernard looked hesitant for a moment but nodded. Lydia did not ring, but walked straight through the unlocked door. She could not help but smile as she took in the familiar interior. A uniform of the samurai stood guard beside the door. Wind and percussive instruments of various origins littered one wall, while a collection of masks, all wood, mache and porcelain stared from another. A set of Russian nesting dolls shared table space with a fertility icon from sub-Saharan Africa. These collected memoirs from all their travels made up what would have seemed eccentric and frightfully exotic in many other homes, but they had never seemed more welcoming.

The pair had not walked far into the parlor when she heard the heavy trampling of feet above her that sounded like someone attempting to descend a staircase about six steps at a time.

"Lydia? Lydia!"

The owner of the booming voice came barreling down the stairs and snatched Lydia up into its arms. Frightened at first, she soon settled happily into the warm embrace of her guardian. William Hightower was a tall man of fifty, with grizzled hair and whose blue eyes and lined face told of an adventurer whose spark and cleverness refused to grow old and tired, and he currently held Lydia in the vice of a man holding a recovered treasure. Finally, he set her down, only to peer anxiously at her for any sign of injury. When he saw her arm hanging in Bernard's scarf, his face clouded in concern.

"You're hurt!"

Lydia shook her head. "That night, I fell out of a tree and hurt my arm, but it is all right now."

William exhaled in relief and embraced Lydia again.

"I had every man, woman and child within a five mile radius on the search. Even the Holmes boys were out with their glasses on Christmas morning sniffing about for any clue to where you had gone. When we failed to find you or the men who attacked us, I feared the worst."

"I am terribly sorry for worrying you. I wanted so badly to communicate with you, but it was really quite impossible, where I was."

"But _where _were you? I searched everywhere and found not a trace of you."

Lydia suddenly realized how difficult it would be to explain to her uncle what exactly she had been doing the past several weeks. "I was in the North. Far north of here. A family found me freezing and took me into their home. The eldest cared for me until I was well and accompanied me back here now. He's just-"

Lydia turned to take Bernard's hand and introduce him, but the elf had disappeared. "He's gone. I suppose he's gone back home. They are a hardworking people and always busy. I do wish I could have said goodbye."

"But it's all right now. I have you back, and nothing else matters," William said, embracing his niece again and kissing the crown of her hair.

Lydia smiled. "You're right. Nothing else matters," she said, although she didn't entirely believe it.

* * *

Bernard materialized in his bedroom and slung his messenger bag across the back of the chair. As he sat heavily on his bed, he felt the room somehow seemed colder and emptier than he had left it. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he should feel that way about saying goodbye to a human girl. This was why elves didn't personally get involved with the children they built toys for. Then again, Lydia seemed sad herself to part ways with Bernard. Perhaps he could get away and drop in on her sometime. Soon. He thought for a moment at how dangerous sneaking away might be, but for some reason he couldn't explain to himself, he really wanted to see her again. If he timed it just right, he could get away when he wouldn't be missed. He thought this over very quickly, but soon he had a plan worked out in his head to visit her in her home in England. His mood lightened by his devious plan and the prospect of seeing Lydia again, Bernard threw his bag across his shoulders and made for the door.

He flung the door open and felt his heart leap into his throat. His Master's bleary eyes were filled with malcontent and his yellow teeth were bared in a malicious grin. Bernard's face was hot and his skin felt cold and sickly. His spine shook and he fought to keep his face calm as the man spoke with beer stained breath.

"And just where have you been Bernard?"


	7. All Seem to Say, Throw Cares Away

**A/N: **YAY! Another chapter at last. I really need to work on getting these out in a timely manner. Actually, if anyone has any suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them. My biggest problems are distractions and be able to sit and write for long periods of time.

Anyway, on with the show.

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"You're pining."

"I'm not pining."

"Who's pining?"

"No one, Curtis. Get back to work," said Bernard half-heartedly.

"You see? You can't even bring yourself to yell at Curtis properly."

"Quinton, give me one good reason why I should be pining for some human girl."

"Because you enjoyed talking to her, and you miss the conversation. Because she challenges you. Because she showed you how to have fun again. And because she finally gave Curtis what you and I both have wanted to give him for the past two hundred years."

Bernard growled irritably in response. Quinton had given him quite a few good reasons, and he didn't have a decent rebuttal to any of them.

"Besides," the inventor continued, "It's good for you to have someone near your own age to talk to."

"Closer to my own-? She's nowhere near my own age. She's what? Fifteen? Sixteen? And I'm…"

Bernard caught Quinton looking at him expectantly and changed the subject with a glare.

"Look, even if I was pining after some girl, which is _ridiculous_, I couldn't just go see her whenever I felt like it. I'd be breaking every rule in that precious handbook that Curtis keeps tucked under his pillow-"

"_Hey!_"

"-and, more importantly, I'm needed here. Head Elf, remember?"

"Really Bernard, the Pole is not going to reverse its polarity if you leave it for an hour."

Bernard didn't have an answer to that either, and he knew that his silence would not escape the inventor's sharp eye.

"I know the real reason why you won't see her."

"Do you really?"

Before the Head Elf could protest, Quinton grabbed a hold of Bernard's arm in his calloused grip and pushed back the sleeve. The exposed wrist was mottled with bruises. Bernard ripped his arm out of Quinton's grasp and pushed the sleeve back down.

"That has nothing to do with this!"

"Oh pish, Bernard," Quinton began, but Bernard's tongue seemed to have unstuck itself, and he wasn't about to stick it back again now that he'd gotten started.

"Besides, if I go one time, it will be twice, and over and over again and where does it stop?"

"When will this stop?" Quinton nearly shouted, gesturing toward Bernard's arm. "When does anything here stop? You've led the same wretched existence for over ten years, and nothing ever changed. Until now. Until her."

"What are you saying? That she's the key to everything?"

"No. I'm saying you've been presented with an opportunity. She makes you happy. Do you really think that your discontent will not spread? Sooner or later, your unhappiness will turn into despair, and it will spread throughout this factory like a plague. And you know what will happen then. Productivity's down almost three percent since the last quarter and elfin morale is-"

"All right, all right, I get it!" Bernard didn't buy that visiting Lydia was going to solve all of their problems. He did know now that Quinton had been spending far too much time around Curtis. "But what can I do about it? If I run off even for an afternoon, certain people are going to notice."

"I wouldn't worry about that, Bernard. I'm sure you will think of something."

Bernard liked Quinton quite a bit, he really did. He would freely admit that the inventor was likely his best friend. But the elfin scientist really was an insufferable know-it-all, and what had infuriated Bernard the most about their conversation regarding the human girl was that on every point Quinton had been absolutely correct. Curse him! And now his hypothesis regarding Bernard's development of a plan to sneak away from the Pole rang true in every respect. The plan in question involved Judy, who Bernard found disgustingly enthusiastic about his proposed rendezvous with Lydia, and an excess of strong alcohol heaved in the direction of the main office. With their master successfully induced into drunken hibernation, Bernard was able to easily sneak away.

"He's asleep now," Judy said, shutting the door to the office.

"You're sure?"

"Positive. You better go now. I don't know when he'll wake up. Oh, wait. Here, take these."

"What are they?"

"Just some sandwiches in case you get hungry on the trip."

"Judy, I'm using magic to get there. I'll arrive the second after I leave."

"Well, take them anyway, just in case. Now go, go. Wait! Just a second."

"What now?" said Bernard exasperated.

Judy licked her index finger and twirled one of Bernard's curls that had gone astray, urging it back into formation.

"Perfect," she said. "Good luck, Bernard."

* * *

Bernard couldn't say he was fond of trees. Especially when there were so many of them and they all looked identical. How was he supposed to find a girl here, when everything looked _exactly the same?_

Bernard's information had led him here, to this exact spot. So where was she? He was in the middle of planning his lecture to the young elf that told him to come here, when he heard a whistle. It was a soft inquiring chirrup, but unable to discern the source, he whistled back. A reply was sent immediately, coming quite clearly now from just over his head.

"Lydia! Don't you ever learn? You remember what happened last time?"

"If memory serves, the tree to which you are referring was drenched in late December rain. But if you wish to prevent another tragedy, you may do the gentlemanly thing and help me down."

Once she had both feet firmly on the ground and had smoothed her skirts, Lydia smiled at Bernard and embraced him fondly.  
"What are you doing here?"

"I'd ask you the same thing. You're an awfully hard girl to track down, you know."

"It was my uncle's idea to come to Venice for the summer. An old friend of his, Mr. Gregson, owns a house here, and we're staying for the summer."

"But what were you doing in the tree?"

"Hiding. The lady of the house, Mrs. Gregson, is determined to mould me into a proper lady."

"Good luck with that one," Bernard said, earning himself a playful pinch on the arm.

"_You_ didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, taking in the sights."

"Really? And are you enjoying Venice?"

"Yeah. The trees are very nice."

"Yes. Yes, they are."

"What? What's that look for?" Bernard said, for ever since she had climbed down out of the tree, Lydia had been giving Bernard the oddest look.

"I'm sorry," she said, diverting her eyes. "It's just that, in the many months after my return, I convinced myself the Pole, the elves, you, that it was all a dream. A wonderful, beautiful, entirely impossible dream. But here you are, and I can hardly believe it."

Bernard felt his heart sink rapidly toward the area of his stomach. Lydia had not forgotten him, but she might as well have. She had stopped believing in him. Bernard was just convincing himself that this had been a terrible idea, when Lydia thrust her arm through the crook of his and said, "Come. Walk with me."

They chatted for some time, exchanging "How-have-you-been?"s with "Very-well-thank-you's" as they strolled arm in arm over the grounds. Bernard found that he was enjoying himself in the relaxing atmosphere of the warm orchard light and casual conversation. Quentin had been right. Bernard could feel the tension leaving his body like the untying of a knot.

Then a shout cut through the air like a knife through a sheet.

"Lydia Hightower! Where are you hiding, you willful girl?"

Lydia started at the cry and grabbed Bernard's wrist. Her grip tightened over the tender extremity, and Bernard bit back a cry of his own. The flinch did not escape Lydia's notice.

"What's the matter?" she whispered.

"It's nothing." Lydia began to disagree, when the cry resounded again.

"Lydia!"

"Come with me," said Lydia. She took Bernard's and took off on what Bernard could only suppose was a secret escape route, the knowledge of which he would be forced to keep to himself always, under pain of death. In any case, Lydia seemed to know where she was going, and it wasn't until they had reached what appeared to be the outer wall of a group of stables that she stopped and allowed Bernard to take a breath.

"I think we've eluded her for now. What's the matter?"

Bernard was cradling his bothersome appendage in his opposite hand, trying to inconspicuously breathe away the pain it was causing him.

"It's nothing! I-I shouldn't have come here."

"But you did. Now tell me, what the matter is."

"It's my wrist, it just hurts a little."

"Only a little, Bernard?" she said skeptically, "How did injure it?"

"It's nothing, really."

"You're beginning to sound like a parrot, Bernard. Now tell me."

"It's a…uh, work injury."

"I see. Have you had it looked at?"

"That's really not an option."

"Why not? Surely you have facilities for injuries."

"We do, it's just...It's complicated."

The debate had reached a stalemate, with both parties frowning in consternation. Lydia sighed and said,

"For how long has it been hurting you?"

"A few days." When he was done extensively surveying the landscape, he returned his gaze to his companion, only to find her staring at him, an eyebrow raised in doubt.

"Alright, a bit longer."

"How long?"

"About a week and a half."

"A week and half? Bernard!" exclaimed Lydia. Her face was set into an expression of determination, and she pulled at his sleeve. "Come."

"Where are we going?"

"To see my uncle. I want him to have a look at it."

"No, that's really not necessary."

"Your protestations fall upon deaf ears, I'm afraid, Bernard. Now come. We must be quiet if we're to escape the dragon."

Minutes later they were safely in a cozy den, having arrived safely without having to engage in any perilous dragon-slaying. The lined but dexterous hands of William Hightower were gingerly prodding the elf's wrist, as the limb's owner glared at Lydia with half-hearted contempt.

"Ow!" Bernard yelped, breaking his scornful glower.

"I'm sorry, dear boy."

"What do you think is causing the pains, Uncle?"

"It's hard to determine, I fear. The duration of the pain suggests something at least mildly serious, and the bruising persists. I feel no major fractures, however. Perhaps a sprained muscle or even a minor fracture could be the cause. The pain will continue to persist, however, until you rest the joint and allow the injury to heal. If you will allow me, I can dress it for you."

"That's very kind of you, but if my boss sees that I'm injured…"

"I understand, but you must rest it if you wish for your wrist to heal. Even a minor injury can become a permanent one."

"If you were to keep your sleeve low over the dressing, he is unlikely to notice it," said Lydia.

"Alright," Bernard said, defeated.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"Here and there. As the younger son, expectations for me were not quite so high as my brother's. I explored here, there, and everywhere, brought back relics of my adventures, and well earned my title of eccentricity. Then my brother died, and suddenly, I had responsibilities."

"Lydia."

"Yes. Tragically, she was the only survivor of that terrible tragedy. In any case, I embarked on a different sort of adventure. There, that should do it."

"Thanks. I appreciate it," Bernard said, stretching his sleeve over his hand, hiding the bandages under burgundy velvet.

"Right, well, I'm now going to turn my head and pretend like my niece is not walking out of this room with a boy I've only met this afternoon. You had better run off before Mrs. Gregson catches up to you."

As they were leaving, William Hightower whispered in Lydia's ear, "Nice young lad you've found. Wonderfully strange attire, though."

Lydia smiled in response and joined Bernard in the corridor.

"Your uncle's very nice. This feels a lot better, I…Did he say afternoon?"

"Yes, it's just gone four o'clock."

"I shouldn't have co- I shouldn't have stayed this long. I have to go."

"Wait! Bernard, please! Will I ever see you again?"

"Take this," he said, handing her a glass ball mounted on a base of filigree gold. Inside the ball were water and tiny sparkling snowflakes, all swirling around a woodland scene with deer prancing around a frozen lake. The snowflakes seemed to flow on their own accord, and Lydia found herself captivated by their movement through the water. "Whenever you go somewhere new, just shake it. I'll be able to find you wherever you are."

"It's beautiful Bernard. I-" she began, but when she looked up, she found that only the trees had heard her. He was gone.

* * *

Over the next year, Bernard managed to escape the Pole and visit Lydia wherever she happened to be at the time. Their rendezvous were seldom, weeks and more often months apart, and on the rare occasion that Bernard felt he would not be missed, it took him some time to track down the girl's location. But he always found her. Every time, Lydia offered to help him and every time Bernard refused. Lydia decided on these occasions not to press the issue, but her concern for him grew with each farewell.

Then it came one night, like so many others, as the Pole slept, Bernard dreamt. Terrors and shadows played their ghoulish waltz in his mind as he tossed fitfully in his bed.

* * *

_Bernard materialized in his bedroom and slung his messenger bag across the back of the chair. As he sat heavily on his bed, he felt the room somehow seemed colder and emptier than he had left it. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he should feel that way about saying goodbye to a human girl. This was why elves didn't personally get involved with the children they built toys for. Then again, Lydia seemed sad herself to part ways with Bernard. Perhaps he could get away and drop in on her sometime. Soon. He thought for a moment at how dangerous sneaking away might be, but for some reason he couldn't explain to himself, he really wanted to see her again. If he timed it just right, he could get away when he wouldn't be missed. He thought this over very quickly, but soon he had a plan worked out in his head to visit her in her home in England. His mood lightened by his devious plan and the prospect of seeing Lydia again, Bernard threw his bag across his shoulders and made for the door._

_ He flung the door open and felt his heart leap into his throat. His Master's bleary eyes were filled with malcontent and his yellow teeth were bared in a malicious grin. Bernard's face was hot and his skin felt cold and sickly. His spine shook and he fought to keep his face calm as the man spoke with beer stained breath. _

_ "And just where have you been Bernard?"_

_ "I-I-I've been here, Sir."_

_ "What a filthy little liar you are." Santa Claus stepped heavily toward Bernard, trapping him between his hulking body and an oak dresser. "It's a wonder why I put up with you."_

_ "S-s-sir?"_

_ "Yes. Why do I put up with you, Bernard?" _

_ "I-I don't know what you mean, Sir."_

"_I know you're hiding something from me, boy."_

_ "No, Sir I just-"_

_ "I know you've been keeping secrets from me. Playing around with one of the little elf maids. Or maybe your inventor friend. I've seen the way you look at him. What have you been doing behind my back, you little invert?" Bernard's master gripped the elf's wrist in a clawed hand. _

_ "Nothing Sir, it's not like that!" _

"_I'm going to find out what you've been keeping from me, and you know what'll happen then, don't you?"_

_ "Please, Sir!"_

_ Bernard's mind went blank as he was thrown to the floor. He made to stand, but Santa loomed over him, the stomping of his boots heavy on the carpet as he stepped closer. _

Bernard shot upright with a gasp and a sob. The terror in the nightmare was but a memory now, but the pain lingered near. His heart hammered a war cry in his breast, and his curls hung damp over his leaking eyes. He looked over the night painted room, searching hopelessly for a corner of bright comfort, but all was doused in shadow. Air pushed its way forcefully to and from his lungs, and Bernard sprang from his bed and grabbed his coat and messenger bag. In the blink of a weary eye, he was gone.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I know, I'm a horribly person, I'm getting coal in my stockings and all that. I'm really sorry about this chapter. I'm not sure, but this could be the worst thing I've ever written. A lot of hand holding and running in this one. And yes, I know the scene between Bernard and Judy is strange, but I was just desperate to get this out. I'm actually really rather shocked that this didn't take me a year to get out…again. *shifts guiltily about Chapter 6* I've had a death in the family and that with school, work, and moving, normally I'd supposed it'd come a lot later, but I guess I needed some escapism. But enough about my messed up life.

There's been some question about my making S.C. a bad guy. Fret not, dear readers, explanation for what could have possibly gotten into me is on the way.

Well, I'd promise to have a new chapter out soon, and I really hope I do, but for now I need to throw myself into getting my stuff cleared out. But things are still mucked up on my end, so who knows? Thanks for sticking around though. I promise I'll get this finished eventually.

Merry Christmas to all!!


	8. The Darkness Everywhere

A/N: Wow. Four months. I think this may be a personal best. Which is kind of pathetic now that I think about it. Well, on with the show.

* * *

**The Darkness Everywhere**

_Bernard materialized in his bedroom and slung his messenger bag across the back of the chair. As he sat heavily on his bed, he felt the room somehow seemed colder and emptier than he had left it. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he should feel that way about saying goodbye to a human girl. This was why elves didn't personally get involved with the children they built toys for. Then again, Lydia seemed sad herself to part ways with Bernard. Perhaps he could get away and drop in on her sometime. Soon. He thought for a moment at how dangerous sneaking away might be, but for some reason he couldn't explain to himself, he really wanted to see her again. If he timed it just right, he could get away when he wouldn't be missed. He thought this over very quickly, but soon he had a plan worked out in his head to visit her in her home in England. His mood lightened by his devious plan and the prospect of seeing Lydia again, Bernard threw his bag across his shoulders and made for the door._

_ He flung the door open and felt his heart leap into his throat. His Master's bleary eyes were filled with malcontent and his yellow teeth were bared in a malicious grin. Bernard's face was hot and his skin felt cold and sickly. His spine shook and he fought to keep his face calm as the man spoke with beer stained breath. _

_ "And just where have you been Bernard?"_

_ "I-I-I've been here, Sir."_

_ "What a filthy little liar you are. It's a wonder why I put up with you."_

_ "S-s-sir?"_

_ "Yes. Why do I put up with you, Bernard?" _

_ "I-I don't know what you mean, Sir."_

"_I know you're hiding something from me, boy."_

_ "No, Sir I just-"_

_ "I know you've been keeping secrets from me. Playing around with one of the little elf maids. Or maybe your inventor friend. I've seen the way you look at him. What have you been doing behind my back, you little invert?" _

_ "Nothing Sir, it's not like that!" _

"_I'm going to find out what you've been keeping from me, and you know what'll happen then, don't you."_

_ "Please, Sir!" _

Bernard shot upright with a gasp and a sob. The terror in the nightmare was but a memory now, but the pain lingered near. His heart hammered a war cry in his breast, and his curls hung damp over his leaking eyes. He looked over the night painted room, searching hopelessly for a corner of bright comfort, but all was doused in shadow. Air pushed its way forcefully to and from his lungs, and Bernard sprang from his bed and grabbed his coat and messenger bag. In the blink of a weary eye, he was gone.

* * *

Miles away from the Pole, Lydia Hightower dreamt. Autumn crept stealthily through the night air, and all was still. It had been some weeks since Bernard had visited Lydia with an injured wrist and a troubled soul, and Lydia still worried nightly for her elfin friend.

Out of the haze of Morpheus' spell came the familiar jingling of bells. This musical sound however, once so sweet to hear, now seemed disharmonic, as though the musician had lost the tune. The mists of sleep still held her snugly in their grasp, when a crash broke the silence of the night, sending Lydia bolt upright in her bed. Darkness stretched before her, but she could detect movement in a corner across the room.

Wedged between the dresser and the wardrobe, a figure groaned in pain. Lydia was not able to distinguish dream from truth, and, though she strained to see through the veil of night, she could not discern who the figure was groaning in pain across the room from her. So she asked "Who is there?"

"It's me," the shadow said pitifully.

Lydia struck a match and hit the wooden floor with bare feet. Since she had last laid eyes on Bernard, he had grown pale, and as her candle painted his face in dull orange light, shadows fell under his eyes, signs of hardship she had never seen upon him before. He held his hand to his side, nursing the bruise he had earned when he crashed into the furniture.

"Are you hurt?" she said, as she ushered him to the foot of the bed.

"No, no. I'm fine."

Lydia noticed that Bernard was staring at her mere moments before he realized it. Bernard abruptly looked away, and Lydia hastily took up her dressing gown and wrapped it around her.

"You don't look well, Bernard," she said, sitting beside him.

Bernard put his face in his hands and rubbed his tired eyes. With a desperate sigh, he pushed himself upright and paced the hardwood floor. His soft-soled shoes barely made a din as he expelled so much nervous energy. He made a few frenetic laps around the room before Lydia could stand it no more. She leapt forward and took hold of his hands.

"What ever is the matter?"

"I don't know," he said, not looking at her. Lydia sighed sadly.

"Sit down."

Bernard complied with the obedience brought about by exhaustion and despondency. Lydia sat beside him, still holding his hand and looking straight into his weary eyes.

"Even when you could only stay a few minutes, because you knew you would be missed, you have never come to me in the dead of night. So, either this is an act of depravity unworthy of you, Bernard, or something's wrong. Which is it?"

Bernard was uncharacteristically silent. Whatever troubled Bernard so deeply, Lydia sympathized greatly and wished to help him in whichever way she could, but this constant evasion tired her.

"He beats you, doesn't he? Your master?" said Lydia quietly.

"It doesn't matter," said Bernard. Clearly he was quite exhausted, but Lydia would not be deterred.

"How could it not matter?" she said.

"I said, it's fine."

"If everything is so fine, then why have you come to me now?"

"I....I needed to see you."

"Need. Not want. You _needed_ to see me. What caused this sudden need?"

"Are you going to hang on every word?" said Bernard, leaving her side and crossing to the window. "It's fine."

"Why must you keep saying that? You come here in the middle of the night, you are exhausted and distressed, and your arrival was so off kilter that you landed on a dresser. And you expect me to believe you when you say everything is fine."

"I shouldn't have come here."

"You say that, and you still come to me." Lydia stood and joined him. The truth she could not speak remained that his words, the regret he expressed at their meeting, wounded her deeply. "Why do you insist on evading me?"

"Telling you wouldn't change anything."

"Why wouldn't it?" Lydia put a hand on Bernard's arm. "I can help you."

"No! I won't bring you into this."

"Why not?"

"I-I don't want to talk about this."

"_Does he hurt you?"_

"YES!" he shouted. "Are you happy now?"

Bernard's confirmation of what she had long suspected sent a shockwave through her that seemed to shake her to her core.

"How badly?" she urged. "And how often?"

"I _really_ don't want to talk about this." He tried to retreat from the conversation, but Lydia had him snared and was not about to let him escape.

"What about the others?"

"What others?"

"The other elves? Does he hurt them too?"

"No, never." Bernard shook his head, clearly agitated.

"What about the children?"

"No!" Bernard cast his eyes downward. "No."

"How can you be certain?"

"I just…know."

Lydia scoffed, but Bernard continued. "I'd know if he was hurting them. It's just me. Which is why we can change the subject."

"What do you mean by that? Does your own health and well being mean nothing to you?"

Bernard fixed Lydia with a searching glare.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because…" Lydia froze mid-sentence, as though she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. She took a breath and started again.

"Your home, your people, all you do for the world, it's the most beautiful place I know. And even if you are his only victim, that doesn't mean the others aren't affected. Why won't you let me help you?"

Bernard took this in and shook his head sadly.

"You shouldn't be involved."

"Why not?"

"I don't want you getting involved in this. It's not your concern."

"No," she said, her voiced like sharpened steel. "It's yours."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Bernard, his own speech beginning to simmer.

"How can you be certain that he doesn't hurt the children? For one night, an entire night, he travels the world, and every child he meets is vulnerable. It's your job, your _duty_, to protect them."

"Look! There is _nothing_ I care more about than those kids!"

"But I supposed as long as you are the only one subjected to his brutality, the feelings of the other elves do not matter?" said Lydia acidicly.

"That's not true! Just stay out of it."

"Why?"

"Because-" he said clumsily. "Because it's none of your business."

"You've made it my business," said Lydia pointedly.

"Then maybe I won't come here anymore, if it's such a burden to you."

"So be it. But this won't go away."

"I have to get back. Someone's bound to have noticed I'm gone."

"Yes, go crawl back with your tail between your legs! And when everything comes crashing down on you, don't come to me expecting pity."

"Fine then. I won't."

Bernard stepped away from her into the dark of the room, and the dull glow of the candle turned his dark eyes into burning embers as he glared at her. The disjointed ringing sounded once more and Bernard disappeared.

"Bernard?" she called out to the empty room. Bernard was gone though, vanished before he could see the single tear fall down Lydia's cheek. She shut her eyes and senses against the silence of the room, and another voice broke through the door.

"Lydia, are you all right? I heard voices."  
"It's all right, Uncle. I was just dreaming."

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know I'm a terrible person.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all the reviewers who have stuck around with this story, particularly IceWine Rose, who gave me a series of probably the nicest reviews I've ever received. I truly think this is coming along well, and all of your support means a lot to me.

So, as all my fellow students will understand, as this semester progresses and accelerates as it reaches its end, I become ever more busy and my life more hectic. That and the fact that I've had to move and am now living in a sea of cardboard boxes, the situation will result in my _wanting_ to write more and having less time to do so. So, I guess we'll just see what happens.

As always, read and review if you please. The plot bunnies thrive on them.


	9. Hopes and Fears

Alright lads and lasses. Or maybe just lasses. This one's a bit shorter than the rest, but Chapter 10 will be longer, promise. At least it's coming out a bit sooner than my past track record. It would have been even sooner, but school ate up most of my life and then, well, my computer, after five years of laughter and tears is taking the ice flow out to the great Silicon City in the sky. I've written a large chunk of this chapter (as well as the next) on my mother's computer (as well as my computer in the Astronomy Lab. Gotta love long integrations.) Her laptop is older than mine and has taken to Blue Screening us. Luckily, I've been able to work around a bunch of this.

If I sound incoherent, by the way, it's because a canvas fell on my head today, and I should probably be in bed and not trying to explain myself on here. In fact, I'll just stop rambling now and let you guys read and go rest my poor cranium.

On with...

* * *

**Chapter 9: Hopes and Fears **

Quinton considered himself quite a resourceful elf, and indeed, hardly ever a problem surfaced that he failed to solve. He spotted Bernard leaning against the balcony, glaring at the scenery with the same pensively morose frown he had been wearing for the last fortnight and shook his head. The Arch Elf had been skulking about the North Pole, bringing down morale and frightening the reindeer for almost two weeks, and Quinton made the executive decision as Best Friend of the Arch Elf that enough was enough. He braced himself for the glares and arguments that would surely rally against his meddling and marched his way to where Bernard stood.

"So how has your day been, Bernard?"

Silence greeted his inquiry cordially, while Bernard merely glared more intently. Quinton's internal shoulder devil complained that it didn't deserve this, it was too old for this sort of thing, and it should really be relaxing some place warm because, really, all this nonsense was bad for its sensitive nerves, but Quinton firmly reminded it that Bernard was their closest friend and it was their duty to interfere. He agreed however that Bernard was acting quite petulantly and that a little amiable derision between friends would not be uncalled for.

" 'Why absolutely _spiffing_ Quinton. Thank you for asking! Wonderful weather we're having, isn't it? And how are you? In good health, I hope.' Except, that would be a lie, wouldn't it?"

"I'm fine."

Quinton leaned against the balcony next to Bernard, putting his chin in his hand in mock introspection. "You know, you ought to have cards printed. That way you wouldn't ever have to say it."

"Don't start," said Bernard, his voice a slight moan.

"I don't need to," Quinton responded lightly. "I know he hasn't done anything horrid to you this time. In fact, he has seemed to me to be quite happier in the last few weeks than I have ever seen him."

"You don't seem too happy about it," said Bernard, sending a brief glare Quinton's way.

"Just an observation; I believe any radical change observed in an individual's behavior to be worthy of note."

"Why don't you say what you really mean?"

Quinton raised an eyebrow and restrained himself from making a comment involving a pot and a kettle.

"You look tired. Things are quiet around here. Why don't you pop down and see her?"

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" Quinton asked cagily. "You aren't likely to be missed, and I can explain your absence if the need arises. Unless there is a reason you don't want to see her."

"You're annoying," Bernard argued weakly.

"I am well aware of this fact. But as irritating as I may be, I am also far more difficult to avoid. You can't just disappear in a puff of fairy dust and escape me like you do to Lydia when she begins to ask questions that you would rather not answer. I take it your last little rendezvous with Lydia didn't go well." "

Bernard sighed and surrendered to the inevitable.

"She accused me of not _doing my duty_ to the elves or children, whatever that means. She said I didn't care about them."

"That doesn't sound like her."

"Yeah, I don't know what her problem is."

"Maybe the problem originates from frustration resulting from your recent conduct."

"What do you mean my 'recent conduct'?"

"Well, you continually turn up without preamble, indicate that something is not as it should be, and when she tries to glean from you the cause of your distress in order to find a solution, you push her away. It must make her feel helpless, knowing something is wrong with someone she cares about and not being able to do anything about it."

"Are you taking her side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side! Who said anything about sides?"

Bernard sighed in exasperation. "What was I supposed to say? 'I had a bad dream, can I sleep with you?'"

"The truth would have been an excellent place to start."

"I, I just can't."

"You won't be able to hide this from her forever."

"Watch me."

"But if she can help-"

"No!"

"This is not just about you Bernard. If she is willing to help us, then why are you so vehement to keep her away?"

"Don't. Not you too."

"I do not intend to further injure your honor, Bernard. I only wonder whether you are protecting her from him or you?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Bernard, I wasn't made head of R&D because I'm mentally negligible."

"Yeah, you're one of our best researchers. So go. Research. Develop. Just leave me alone!"

With this final furious command, Bernard stormed away. Quinton crossed his arms and leaned lazily against the balcony as he placidly watched his friend disappear. He was neither hurt nor offended by Bernard's show of temper. Instead, he made his way casually back to his laboratory in order to perform an action oft neglected on his part. He obeyed an order.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers who have stuck patiently with me all this time, particularly IceWine Rose, whose enthusiastic reviews encourage and propel me to keep trucking on this monster. I know my not being a chapter a day writer can be frustrating, and I'm sorry. But I am pleased to inform you all that I have already begun progress on Chapter 10. I just need to find it...


	10. Do You Hear What I Hear?

"Are you certain he will be gone all morning?" said Quinton, his eyes darting nervously around the corridor.

'Positive," said Abby. "He's been going out around this time everyday for the past several weeks, and he never comes back before one o'clock."

"What's he up to, I wonder?"

"I don't know. What are you looking for exactly?"

"I'm not sure precisely. Anything that will make Bernard come to his senses. I believe I will know it when I see it."

"Is there hope then Quinton?"

"There is always hope, my dear."

"Be careful, Quinton."

"Thank you, Abby. Give my regards to your sister Judy."

As soon as the elf maid had skipped away down the corridor, Quinton opened the office door and stepped inside. It had been years since he had been in this office, but it strangely looked almost exactly the same. The present Santa had change very little about the décor, except for the damage he had done to the wardrobe, chair, desk and other furniture in periods of drunken incompetence. Shaking his head, Quinton set to his task.

Quinton looked through the desk and its drawers and found nothing. He was similarly unsuccessful in his search of the wardrobe. He was near to admitting defeat, when he noticed something out of place in the room. Hanging on the wall opposite the door, was a lovely painting of a young girl pouring a jug of milk, which Quinton did not recognize. Dubious that the holder of this office would have chosen such decoration, he approached the painting in question.

"Now, what's your secret?" he said the artwork. He grasped either side of the frame in his hands and gave the painting a gentle tug. It swung open freely, revealing the secret compartment behind it.

"Aha! There you are my gorgeous darling!"

This was Quinton's whispered exclamation, as he tugged a small chest from where it had been stored behind the painting. He sat in the massive arm chair with the chest in his lap. It was heavy, weighted with cargo, and poorly maintained, its wood warped and splintered. Still, Quinton ran his hands over its lid and caressed the many crevices of its cracked surface.

"Please, show me what I need," he pled to the chest, and with hope in his heart but braced for failure, he opened the chest. Inside were dozens of sheaves of paper, some in torn open envelopes. Buried beneath these, were two glass bottles of what Quinton had no doubt was some variety of alcoholic substance.

"Not how I would have chosen to store important documents. No matter."

He pored over document after document, always mindful of his time. Among the papers were over a dozen letters, all coming from the same location and all from the same person, a man whose name Quinton had never heard who lived evidently somewhere in the United States. Surprised that his master would engage in such active correspondence with this gentleman, Quinton began to read over them with great interest. By the third letter, Quinton realized that in his hands was the very ammunition he had been seeking.

"Good heavens," he whispered. "Good heavens!"

Trying to keep his breath steady, Quinton gathered all the papers and replaced the chest behind the wall. With a great effort, Quinton made himself appear composed, but inside, his heart pounded with the thrill of discovery. He gathered the papers, stored them inside his jacket and opened the door.

"Quinton!" a voice said beside him. Quinton gasped, certain that he had been discovered.

"Abby!" he exclaimed. "You frightened me."

"Sorry, Quinton," the young elf, lowering her voice. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes. I do believe I have. I need to go now. There's somebody who needs to have a look at these."

* * *

Lydia was quite displeased with her aim. She sighed as her arrow sliced cleanly into the target a good six inches north east of the center, mimicking the behavior of its last three predecessors. She knew well that when it came to shooting, consistency was, in the end, more important than a single accuracy, but she had been overcorrecting her aim for an hour now, and she had grown quite frustrated.

_I'm just tired_, she concluded. Indeed, she had slept little the past few weeks, her sleep interrupted by long hours of insomnia, where she sat at her window, peering out into the outstretching darkness, as though she was waiting for something, although she knew not what, like a lighthouse waiting for incoming ships.

Her anxiety had put her off food to an extent, and as a result, her form had lost the last vestiges of her childhood shape. She had grown quite lean, sinew prevailing where she had noticed little strength before. Mrs. Gregson, during a visit had remarked on the change, saying that few gentlemen would take for a bride a girl so thin and pale. William Hightower had silenced the impertinent woman with a glare, but he still looked upon his precious niece with concern in his eyes. Lydia found that she didn't care. She didn't know what she wanted to do with her life, but the idea of courting any of the young gentlemen Mrs. Gregson always threatened to push upon her did not appeal to her in the least. In fact, there was only one young man that ever crossed Lydia's mind with any affection, although she dared not speak his name. And now, she had lost him. So, she grew thin and pale and practiced her shooting.

Lydia knew she was lucky to have her uncle, though. All of the friends-of-the-family and wives of business partners who ever sought to take her in hand and make her a proper lady, he kept at bay. None of them knew about the bow, or they would have an apoplectic fit.

The bow fit nicely in the curve of her hand. Each time the weapon grew taut, only to suddenly snap loose as she released her hold on the knock, she felt a minute portion of her own tension release its hold on her neck and shoulders. She loaded another arrow and took aim. As she focused her sight down its shaft, her mind wandered, as it was wont to do these days. As a result, her aim went wide, and the arrow missed the target completely and flew into the woods beyond. She frowned and shook her head, trying to clear wayward thoughts from her mind. With a self-chastising sigh, she set off in search of the missing arrow.

It took some minutes, but she finally located the projectile, which had landed cleanly in a circle of mushrooms. She cast a bemused expression on the spectacle and after a moment's hesitation, picked up the arrow and stepped inside the circle. She entertained herself for a few moments imagining the appalled expression on Mrs. Gregson's face should she discover the girl standing in the fairy circle and holding an arrow, like a young Artemis during the hunt.

As she cleaned the dirt from the arrow head, rustling came from the woodlands beside her. An enemy, a friend, or merely a woodland creature? Determined to find out, Lydia took off into the forest, bow in hand.

* * *

Quinton belonged in a lab. He was not adapted to such wild conditions. He had been wandering in these woods for what seemed like hours, and he was certain that he had greatly misjudged his destination. Certainly the person he sought would not be found here. No one could live in these woods, with its dirt, moss, leaves and woodland animals of various size and food preference.

A twig snapped in the distance, and Quinton swallowed hard. He could battle anyone, human or elf, with logic and reason, but he doubted any of the creatures in these woods would be willing to listen to all the clear, rational reasons he could think of why they shouldn't eat him. And judging by the pattern of sound of foliage being disturbed, something worryingly larger than a squirrel was headed his way.

* * *

_This is foolish. This is foolish_, the logical part of her repeated again and again in her mind. Curiosity triumphed in the end however, and she kept on creeping stealthily through the woods. She knew her quarry to be nearby, perhaps only thirty yards away. It sounded large, and she suspected a prowler or an unfortunate creeping through the woods toward the house. Lydia knew the wise thing to do would be to alert her uncle to the undesirable presence, yet she could not force herself to turn away.

She was only ten yards away now, and she could see the shape of a person standing in a clear spot in front of her. She nocked an arrow into her bow and stepped forward silently toward the figure.

When she was a mere ten feet away, Lydia's legs were shaking and her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. The prowler was not tall, only am inch or so taller than herself, and he was carrying what appeared to be a satchel in which one might carry important documents. In any case, he seemed quite out of place amongst the surrounding trees.

She could not see his face, and his clothes were mostly obscured by shadow. She hesitated for a moment, telling herself that he might simply be a traveler who had wandered off the path and lost his way. Instinct, however, told her not to take the risk and with a deep breath, she leapt from her hiding place and drew back the arrow.

* * *

Later, Quinton would swear that he nearly choked on his own tongue that day. He could hear the sound of a large something creeping up to him in the woods, and the closer the something approached, the quicker his breaths came. He had tried to prepare himself for the coming danger, but being a scientist, there was little he knew to do in situations such as these. He could hardly wave a test tube in a bear's face and expect it to cower in terror. So when the young female jumped from hiding, the least he could hope for was that his resultant shriek that he was sure could have been heard in several surrounding counties was at least a somewhat masculine shriek.

Working in Research and Development, Quinton didn't see children often, and lately even the scouts, young elves sent to commingle with children and learn their wishes, had dwindled to a handful sent out only every few years. Even so, Quinton was almost always holed up in his lab, alternating between the frenzy of experimentation and the exasperation of keeping Curtis out of trouble. He rarely set eyes upon the very children he built toys for, let alone saw them grown. He hadn't prepared himself for this.

The girl he had met in the North Pole had been a battered but happy child. He remembered her bright pearlescent eyes, but now she pierced him with cold iron. The female before him was nearly a woman: lithe of figure, fierce of eye, and, most disturbingly, pointing an arrow in his direction. Quinton unconsciously exposed his empty, calloused palms in surrender.

"Ms. Hightower-Lydia," he said. "It's Quinton, from the North Pole. Do you remember?"

She looked at him as though he had walked out of a dream, as though he had materialized before her out of thin air. The bow fell to her side, and the arrow hit the ground harmless.

"Yes," she whispered. "I remember."

"Forgive me for startling you. I'm afraid I became a bit lost in these woods of yours."

Lydia shook her head as though chasing away a daydream.

"I'm surprised to see you here."

"I might say the same of you. I did not expect to find you tucked away in a forest. I take the liberty of assuming that you don't live here?"

Lydia smiled, and finally, she looked less like a wild-eyed huntress and more akin the girl he had known before.

"No, of course not," she said, with traces of laughter echoing in her answer.

"Do you often walk about unescorted?" Quinton said, eyeing the bow which had still not left her hand. Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"Do I detect a note of disapproval?" she said. A noticeable glint had returned to her eye, and Quinton found himself suddenly reminded of the presence of the bow between them.

"Not at all," he said, urgent to correct what Lydia had clearly perceived as judgment. "Only surprise."

"Well, I am sure Mrs. Gregson would be perfectly scandalized if she knew I was here."

"That seems likely. Who is Mrs. Gregson, if I may ask?"

"A friend of the family determined to mould me into a proper lady entirely against my will."

"I would wish her the best of luck, but she sounds positively dreadful."

"Believe me, she is quite horrid, which is why I've come here to evade her. Why are _you_ here, if I may ask? Bernard made it perfectly clear that he did not wish to see me again."

"Bernard is a fool," Quinton said impetuously. "And it is not entirely on his behalf that I have come here."

"Not entirely?"

"Bernard may be a fool, but he is still my friend. Shall we?"

"I take it you know something of what has occurred between us?"

"Forgive me. It was none of my business, but I became concerned…."

Quinton trailed off, unsure of how the specimen in front of him would react to the approaching subject.

"How is he?"

"His usual surly self, if not a bit surlier. He stands above the streets most nights and broods."

_I think he's thinking of you_, Quinton wanted to say.

"He misses you."

"No, he doesn't."

"_Yes_, he does. I can see it in his face. He looks so terrible all the time. I don't know what to do."

"Why are you here, Quinton?"

"Something must be done, miss."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry to cut it off there. This was originally going to be a much, much longer chapter, but I realized just how much I had left to write and figured I'd split it in two and give you a shorter chapter sooner, rather than a longer chapter later. This was the best place to make the split. What this means though, is that I'm already well into the second part of Chapter 10.

I really hope you guys (at least the half a handful of readers still following this thing) like Quinton. I've pretty much extrapolated his character from about three lines he has in the first movie. I didn't originally plan for his character to be this involved, but he has been an absolute blast to write. I just hope you all have enjoyed reading him as much as I've enjoyed writing him.

Thanks a lot to all the people who have stuck with this story.

Please Read and Review. It makes my Creative Gland happy.


	11. Do You See What I See?

A/N: I have nothing really important or profound to say, but I felt the need to put something here anyway. I own nothing and get nothing from this, if I haven't mentioned before. (Except personal fulfillment of course.)

Oh yes, props to IceWine Rose for her wonderful encouragement.

This takes place right about where the last chapter left off. In fact, I meant for it all to be one chapter but it rather got away from me, and I decided to split it so I could get the first part out. So if it seems to lack exposition, that's why.

On with the show then.

* * *

**Do You See What I See?**

"Who's minding the lab then?"

"Curtis."

Lydia shuddered and looked at Quinton as though he had just announced his engagement to a duck billed platypus.

"I know. I too fear for the safety of my precious lab, but needs must when the devil comes to call, particularly when that devil is masquerading as Father Christmas."

"You are a worthy friend, Quinton," Lydia replied with a warm smile. "But that still does not explain why you are here."

"Bernard believes that so long as no one else is directly affected, nothing needs to change. This notion is, and mind you, my dear, this is my opinion as a scientist, idiotic. Cause and effect do not function merely as action/reaction followed by an abrupt halt. You see, Bernard doesn't understand. He's not just some glorified governess preventing Curtis and the rest of us from burning the Pole to the ground. Something happens to him, and we all feel it. Furthermore, the elves are not blind. They all know what a wicked man we have running things, but none of them dare stand against him. I need your help."

Quinton had spoken with the fervor of both a scholar and a concerned friend, but that did little to abate Lydia's lack of confidence.

"What can I do? He won't listen to me."

"Nor I. When I broached the subject, he lost his temper and stormed off."

"Sounds familiar. Quinton, I want to help, but I'm powerless. I've tried to convince Bernard to act, but he refuses. I don't know what more I can do."

"No. Trying to convince Bernard that it's for his own good is clearly a waste of breath."

"Do you have an alternative?"

"I believe that I do."

"Why come to me then?"

"You have more experience in the affairs of humans than any of us at the Pole."

"That may be true, Quinton, but what can I possibly do to help?"

Quinton closed his eyes and began to wonder if his entire existence would be spent trying to convince frustratingly oblivious people of truths which were to him completely obvious. "You've changed since you came to the Pole. Being a child you might have changed anyway, but you _have_ changed, and everything that happened that night and after it has been the catalyst." Quinton paused as Lydia frowned at him, and he read on her face that she believed that this mattered little. "You've changed him too."

Lydia scoffed.

"You have!" he insisted. "The only reason he stormed off was because you tried to get involved."

"He said it wasn't any of my business."

"He was protecting you."

Lydia sighed. She knew now Quinton was right.

"I lost my temper, Quinton," she said. "I should not have shouted at him."

"It is my opinion that Bernard needed to be shouted at a bit," Quinton said in the air of a physician prescribing treatment for a particularly annoying ailment. "Noble though his intentions may be, he is being ridiculous."

"I am equally at fault. I should have told him the truth."

Quinton turned his eyes toward her sharply at this unexpected confession. "What truth is that?"

Despite her admission, Lydia found herself reticent. "It can be of little consequence now. You spoke of a plan. What is it?"

Quinton rubbed his hands together like a magician about to perform the climax of an especially complex trick. "I was beginning to worry that you would never ask. You see, Bernard and I had a bit of a row concerning this very subject."

Lydia sighed ruefully. Quinton waved an impatient hand and continued.

"Now, now, we need not waste precious time on regret. It can't be helped, I'm afraid. The point is, something Bernard said inspired me. He told me to keep to my research and development. So I've done some research and developed some ideas. If we are to convince Bernard that steps must be taken, we must convince him that more is at stake than his well being. I've been concerned as of late that it seems our dear master has been acting less like an angry drunken sod and more like the cat that caught the canary. Bernard brushed my concerns off, but I thought that it was worth pursuing. So, at a time I knew him to be away, I looked through his office for anything I could find which might bring Bernard to his senses."

Lydia's eyes grew wide. "You looked through his office? Quinton, that was terribly dangerous."

"It is not myself I am concerned for but the welfare of us all. And while I was there, I found something. Documents, letters. I'm not entirely sure what it means, but I have an idea. I thought, perhaps, you could have a look at them."

"I will do as you ask, though I do not know what help my insight might be to you. Let's go somewhere warmer first."

* * *

Lydia led Quinton out of the woodlands. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the heralding chill of winter. Before them was an old but well maintained manor, which stood menacing like a sentinel, its white walls and painstakingly landscaped foliage sneering at all who were beneath its glory. Candles gleamed inside as the inhabitants attempted to keep back the impending nightfall, but still their glow gave no warmth to the formidable hall.

Lydia was silent as they walked toward the house, marveling still at the course of action which had brought Quinton to her. It was clear the inventor was a deep well, for she had not expected such courage and fortitude from the eccentric scientist.

She led them to a wing of the house which remained unlit. It was clear this part of the manor had grown into disrepair as of late, for the signs were there that workers had been brought in recently to stave off the cracked paint, worn stone and all other ravages of time. The workers were not here now, and it was clear that Lydia had brought them there so that they could speak undisturbed.

"It grows late," said Quinton, noting that the sun hang low upon the horizon. "Will you not be missed?"

"They already think me half mad anyway," she answered with a wry smile. "This is more important. Now, let us see these documents you have risked so much to recover."

Quinton pulled from his satchel a stack of letters tied with a string. Lydia opened them one by one and read through them quickly.

"It seems to be some sort of ongoing communication between two men."

"The conversation is a bit one-sided, I'm afraid," said Quinton. "He apparently did not make copies of the letters he sent but only kept those he received."  
"It's all right, Quinton. You've done well. It seems the letter writer is a Mr. Moran….Do you know who that is?"

"Not the slightest."

"And Simon Carruthers. Who is Simon Carruthers?"

"That was _his_ name before he came to the Pole."

"Well, it seems this Mr. Moran has contacted Carruthers in reference to some sort of business deal between the two men. The two seem to be negotiating a price."

"A price for what is the question."

"Exactly. It sounds like Carruthers has some sort of product superior to others of its kind on the market, and he's trying to make a lucrative deal on it. He mentions a price per head. Cattle? The reindeer maybe?"

"I don't think so, Lydia. Did you notice where these letters came from?"

"Savannah, Georgia, the United States. The place is not familiar to me, only..."

"Only what?"

"My uncle told me some weeks ago that he had heard rumors of turmoil between the States. There have been talks of secession and of war, but over what and whatever that may have to do with this, I do not know. I've heard only whispers."

"I don't understand. He's been so happy lately. I have never, in ten years, seen him this happy. And now this talk of selling off some work force to some fellow in the United States and-"

Quinton stopped short and looked at Lydia as a horrific notion occurred to him.

"You don't possibly think…." said Lydia as she began to understand Quinton's mind. "He wouldn't dare!"

Their thoughts became one, and their eyes grew wide together in abject horror as the full realization of what terrible thing was about to occur came upon them.

"We must go now. I have to go to Bernard."

Quinton shook his head, forcing reason over blind emotion. "Bernard would certainly object to my bringing you back under the circumstances."

"Since when do you act according to what Bernard may or may not object to?" argued Lydia in a tone which communicated quite clearly that she would not be dissuaded.

* * *

Minutes later, they were sprinting through the corridors of the factory, heeding none that they passed with the sole purpose of finding Bernard. They found him, as Quinton expected they would, brooding in his normal spot on the balcony. He looked up as they approached and, seeing Lydia, immediately turned angrily toward Quinton.

"Quinton, why did you bring her here?"

"It's not Quinton's fault. I insisted," said Lydia, stepping forward. "Bernard, you must read this."

"You need to go home."

"Not until you read this," she said, thrusting the stack of paper toward him.

Bernard sighed. Anxiously and half-heartedly, he skimmed over the documents. Halfway through them, he looked up.

"What exactly am I reading here?" he said impatiently.

"Is it not clear to you, Bernard?" said Quinton.

"Obviously not."

"Bernard," Lydia began gently but urgently. "The elves are all in grave danger."

"Danger from what?" Bernard all but shouted. He checked himself and began again in a low whisper. "I told you. It's just me."

Lydia shook her head. "Not anymore. Bernard, he plans to sell the elves into slavery."

Bernard stared at Lydia blankly at this pronouncement. He opened his mouth to retort, but none came. He could think of no reply to this other than shock and complete and utter disbelief.

"Such a clever girl," a voice said. "Quite pretty, too. I see why you like her."

The three conspirators turned on the spot. Before them, sober as a priest, crooked smile dripping with malice, wicked laughter dancing like the Devil in his yellow eyes, was Father Christmas himself. The two elves and the human girl each felt their hearts in their throats. The time of secrecy afforded to them in his absence had run out, and now their party had been discovered.

* * *

A/N: You hate me, don't you?

My muse feeds off of reviews, and she's hungry.


	12. Do You Know What I Know?

**A/N:** This chapter will pick up RIGHT where we left off. I own nothing and all that.

I want to thank you all for all your wonderful reviews. They mean so much to me and the muse.

Important note: This chapter is rated T for language and adult situations! You've been warned.

On with the show.

* * *

_"Quinton, why did you bring her here?"_

_"It's not Quinton's fault. I insisted," said Lydia, stepping forward. "Bernard, you must read this."_

_"You need to go home."_

_"Not until you read this," she said, thrusting the stack of paper toward him._

_Bernard sighed. Anxiously and half-heartedly, he skimmed over the documents. Halfway through them, he looked up._

_"What exactly am I reading here?" he said impatiently._

_"Is it not clear to you, Bernard?" said Quinton._

_"Obviously not."_

_"Bernard," Lydia began gently but urgently. "The elves are all in grave danger."_

_"Danger from what?" Bernard all but shouted. He checked himself and began again in a low whisper. "I told you. It's just me."_

_Lydia shook her head. "Not anymore. Bernard, he plans to sell the elves into slavery."_

_Bernard stared at Lydia blankly at this pronouncement. He opened his mouth to retort, but none came. He could think of no reply to this other than shock and complete and utter disbelief._

_"Such a clever girl," a voice said. "Quite pretty, too. I see why you like her."_

_The three conspirators turned on the spot. Before them, sober as a priest, crooked smile dripping with malice, wicked laughter dancing like the Devil in his yellow eyes, was Father Christmas himself. The two elves and the human girl each felt their hearts in their throats. The time of secrecy afforded to them in his absence had run out, and now their party had been discovered._

_

* * *

_

"What have we here? The three conspirators plotting against me? Didn't think I'd catch up to you, did you? But I'll have you now. Starting with you, boy."

He made to grab at Bernard, but Lydia jumped forward to stay his hand.

"Devil! Fraud!" she shouted. "You horrid, wicked man!"

"SILENCE!" he roared. He slapped Lydia across the face, sending her crashing to the floor. Both Quinton and Bernard yelled out at the assault, and Quinton, who was nearer to her, knelt to assist her to her feet.

"I'll have the lot of you. And mark my words, you will regret your meddling by the time I'm finished with you."

He grabbed Lydia roughly by the arm and Bernard by the back of his neck and shoved them toward the hall. His considerable girth was enough to corral all three of them and force them into the corridor.

"Seamus! Curtis! Theodore!"

At his call, three elves came running forward. One of them Lydia knew; the others she did not.

"Seamus, I want you to escort Quinton to his lab and make sure that he stays there."

"Yes, Sir," replied one of the strangers. Seamus was a young, auburn haired young elf with watery eyes that currently bore his confusion. He took Quinton firmly by the arm, however, and the two marched away together. Quinton was quiet and cooperative as he was led away and only once looked back at his companions, whose faces bore considerably more concern and fear than his own.

"What's going on Sir?" said Curtis, eying Lydia suspiciously.

"There's been a little misunderstanding, Curtis. I want you and Theodore to escort this charming young lady to my chamber, where I shall explain everything to her complete satisfaction."

Bernard's head shot up at this pronouncement.

"No, Curtis no! Don't!"

Bernard was cut off when his shoulder was suddenly gripped in a vice so strong that only the grip itself kept him from dropping to his knees and crumpling to the floor. He bit back a cry and looking pleadingly at Curtis, begging him to understand their peril. Lydia said nothing.

"Do as I say," Santa commanded in a tone so kindly and fatherly, in such horrid contrast to the malice that was the truth, that it sent chills up Bernard's spine.

"Yes, sir," said Curtis, taking Lydia by the arm and dragging her away.

"No!" Bernard shouted, struggling wildly to escape the grip that restrained him from reaching her. Lydia's eyes never left him as she disappeared from his sight.

"You, I will deal with now. Come!"

Bernard was silent as he was taken away. He knew where he was going. His Master invariably took him to the seclusion of his own bedroom to be beaten. He did not speak until he was shoved unceremoniously onto the room. He steadied himself quickly. For the first time in many years, he did not cower but stood defiant as his master came toward him.

"Don't you dare hurt her!" he said.

"I'll do with her as I like. But not until I've finished with you."

Bernard did not quail but stood tall and ready as the door slammed shut and his master advanced upon him.

* * *

Lydia was thinking quickly as she was ushered through the workshop. Every now and then, a small group of elves would pass them, but autumn was upon them and in their rush, they did not notice her. Curtis and the other elf had her arm in a firm grip. She had it in her mind to strike them, to fight back, but she could not do it. Curtis had been perfectly wretched, but she felt for the strange elf. He might not know of her danger, and even if he did, he had his own safety to think about. She could not raise a hand to strike him down, not even for her own sake.

Curtis pointedly refused to look at her, but his chest was puffed out with maximum pomposity and importance.

"Please, don't do this," she said. "Let me go."

"I don't know why you're making such a fuss," answered Curtis. "He's just going to explain everything that you've gotten yourself so worked up about."

Lydia knew she would get nowhere with Curtis and turned to her other guard. The elf at her other side was one that she had never met before. He was tall and sturdily built for an elf and had dark eyes and dark hair, shorn close to his scalp.

"Your name is Theodore. Is that right?"

The elf stole a look at her but soon continued to look stoically down the corridor.

"Yes, miss."

"My name is Lydia. Theodore, you must help me, please."

"Don't listen to her," said Curtis before Theodore could answer. "She just has an overactive imagination. Bernard likes her so he encourages her. She's just a hysterical girl."

"Theodore, please. You know something's wrong here. I want to help, but you must let me go. _Please!_"

They had arrived and stopped at a grand, ornate door which Lydia had never seen but knew to lead to the chambers of Santa Claus. Theodore opened the door and led Lydia and side.

"I'm sorry, miss," he said. Curtis and Theodore then exited the room and closed the door behind them.

* * *

Quinton was silent as Seamus walked him into the laboratory. He had vainly hoped Seamus would vacate the premises having delivered the inventor to his destination, but the younger elf lingered, sitting at one of the benches. Fortunately, Quinton's hopes were not the same as his expectations, and on the silent journey to the lab, Quinton had thought up a back up plan.

"Seamus, while we're waiting here, would you like to see something new I am developing? You would be the first to lay eyes on it."

"Sure!" said Seamus.

Seamus was a diligent, obedient and hardworking elf, but not very bright. Quinton had counted on this to make his escape.

"Splendid," he said. "Come over here and let me know what you think. Your frank opinion please."

Seamus nodded and followed Quinton toward a strange looking device on the other side of the room. Quinton began working the mechanism and narrating his actions as Seamus looked on with interest.  
"Now you see, Seamus, I wind his knob here. Now, look just here now. Right. Now I will pull this lever and now if you will kindly keep your eyes focused at that opening there."

Seamus did as he was told and stared at a nozzle protruding from the device.

"Seamus, you are a good elf," said Quinton suddenly. "I know you want nothing to do with this hideous business. So, I apologize."

"For what?" asked Seamus, never taking his eyes away from the device.

"For this," said Quinton, depressing a button on the side of the machine. A pull of red smoke shot out of the mechanism right into Seamus's face. The sudden blast startled him, and he gasped, breathing in a lungful of the smoke.

"I say, that's quite..."

The sentence trailed off as he swayed on the spot. The younger elf's knees began to give and Quinton caught him before he sank to the floor. Quinton dragged Seamus to a large storage cupboard where he housed Curtis's failed prototypes and deposited him unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Thank you, Seamus. That was most demonstrative."

Seamus safely tucked away for the time, Quinton looked around momentarily to ensure he was not observed. He then walked toward the station where he did most of his tinkering. A three legged stool standing over an ancient rug marked where he could often be found hard at work on his current projects. He moved the stool to one side and pulled up the rug. With it came several think planks of wood which made up that area of the floor. Beneath this, the ground had been burrowed away, leaving a flight of stairs reaching into the depths below. Quinton grabbed his coat and descended these, closing the trapdoor behind him.

* * *

Lydia immediately tried the door but was unsurprised to find it locked. She looked about the room to find some outlet for escape but was hampered in every corner.

She had been thrust into a room which was beautifully ornate, with ancient woodwork carved in into intricate patterns of some strange origin and scarlet and gold tapestries. It hardly seemed to coincide with the horrid blackguard she knew to occupy the space, and she wondered, not for the first time how things had come to this pass.

Every minute that passed her heart beat faster, but not for her own sake. She knew that every minute that passed was another minute that one of her friend might be subjected to some horrible fate. She knew them all to be in terrible danger, and she had no way if knowing whether or not any of them were safe. For hours, it seemed, she waiting though in truth she had no idea how long it had been. Then, so suddenly that it made her jump, the door flew open, and her captor burst into the room.

"What have you done with Bernard?" she demanded instantly.

Santa smiled wickedly. "Nothing he didn't have coming to him."

And now you'll do the same to me, I expect?"

"Of course not, my dear. You must be fiery. Spirited. Like a hot headed filly in need of breaking. You wouldn't have found out my little secret so easily."

Lydia's heart was hammering painfully in her chest, but she fought to keep her voice level. Only her immense anger at this man's actions overpowered her fear. "I didn't think you were planning to say this was a grave misunderstanding. Why are you doing this?"

He did not answer but advanced slowly toward her.

"I demand that you answer me, sir!"

"You're not in a position to be making demands. Now you are going to keep quiet and not say a word about what you know. Or your little friends are going to suffer. Now, I'm a man used to getting what he wants. You keep quiet and this will go quickly. Make a fuss, and well, that will just be more fun for me."

As he spoke, he walked slowly toward her, grinning like a cat that had cornered a mouse.

"Stay away!" Lydia cried.

Santa lunged and threw his considerable girth toward her. His hands were on her, calloused and filthy. She attempted to push him off, but his hands roved lower, grabbing at her skirts. She desperately tried to pry his hands off her body, but his strength and bulk were too much for her. Her resolve began to weaken along with her strength as he pushed her toward the bed, when she suddenly remembered something she learned from her travels.

It was a remarkable thing, a bit of knowledge which had never been of any use of importance until now, but she sent a silent thank you to whoever taught it to her. A swift upward kick with her knee was enough to send her attacker into a severe spasm of pain. He released her with a yell, and she fled.

"You stupid little bitch!" he cried, making a grab for her. Lydia reached for the door handle and was elated to discover he had left it unlocked. The door swung open, and she was free.

"Yes, go to him!" Santa shouted after her. "Little whore!"

Despite his terrible curses at her, she had escaped. Yet, so terrified was she that, in her mad rush to put as much distance between herself and that terrible man, she nearly ran into an elf who was rushing the other way.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking. She recognized the elf as Theodore. The recognition only intensified her terror, and she took off, never hearing him cry out.

"No miss! Not that way!"

She ran and ran, like a fool, out of the factory into the village, passing in her panic the elves milling about heedless of her danger. She did not once stop for help or direction, for how could she tell for certain now friend from foe.

Lydia ran until her legs burned and her heart protested, beating like a hammer against her breast bone. She had no idea where she was, and now she was alone. Her shoes were soaked through, and she lost her footing, tumbling into the snow. She lay there a moment in her despair, coated in frost like a glittering snow angel. Her breaths came heavy and painful, and thoughts whirled like snowflakes in a torrent in her head. She knew nothing of Bernard or Quinton. Would Santa follow her or go after Quinton? What of Bernard? Was he safe or lying in his room dreadfully injured?

Lydia closed her eyes, knowing that she must collect herself, if she was to find her way back to the factory in safety. Suddenly heavy footsteps echoed beside her as someone approached. The large body leaned over her, but Lydia did not open her eyes. The weight upon her breathed hot air on her face. Finally, her eyes opened to reveal a face covered in white.

* * *

**A/N: **So maybe I wasn't hugged enough as a child.

Now, I know from the reviews that a lot of you are still wondering what is going on here. I promise that the next chapter will finally explain what's happening and what I'm driving at, so hang in there.

Reviews are cookies for the soul and food for the muse, who is always hungry.

Merry Christmas to all!


	13. Listen to What I Say

Okay, I have many, many excuses as to why this unforgivably short chapter has taken me this long, and I know you likely have very little interest in any of them, so here's the abbreviated version: work, life, school, life, original writing, writer's block, life.

This was originally meant to be the opening scene of a much longer chapter, which isn't quite ready to be put out. So rather than deprive you any longer, here's a short chapter which will be followed very soon (pinky promise) by the rest.

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Listen to What I Say**

_Lydia ran until her legs burned and her heart protested, beating like a hammer against her breast bone. She had no idea where she was, and now she was alone. Her shoes were soaked through, and she lost her footing, tumbling into the snow. She lay there a moment in her despair, coated in frost like a glittering snow angel. Her breaths came heavy and painful, and thoughts whirled like snowflakes in a torrent in her head. She knew nothing of Bernard or Quinton. Would Santa follow her or go after Quinton? What of Bernard? Was he safe or lying in his room dreadfully injured?_

Lydia closed her eyes, knowing that she must collect herself, if she was to find her way back to the factory in safety. Suddenly heavy footsteps echoed beside her as someone approached. The large body leaned over her, but Lydia did not open her eyes. The weight upon her breathed hot air on her face. Finally, her eyes opened to reveal a face covered in white. Yellow canines hung before her in a gaping mouth like stalactites in a cave. A wet, black nose pressed curiously against her forehead. "Sigmund?"

"What are you doing out here, miss?" asked the furry traffic guard. He stood in the snow beside her, his blue hat perched on his ivory head. "You'll catch your death rolling about in the snow like that. My dear girl, what's the matter?"

Lydia had scrambled out from beneath the polar bear's girth and sat in the snow with her head in her hands.

"I have to find Bernard."

"Bernard? What's wrong with Bernard?" asked Sigmund, as his voice deepened into a low growl.

"We're all in terrible danger. And he's – I don't even know if he's hurt, or…."

Lydia trailed off as she once more buried her fingers in her hair and tears came to her eyes.

"It's that terrible man isn't it?" asked Sigmund, sitting beside her on the ground. Lydia looked sharply into his face.

"You know of it then? All that he's done?"

"How could I not?" said the bear. Sigmund sighed and got to his feet. "Come along, miss. Let's get you inside out of the cold."

"I can't go in there. He'll be looking for me."

"You're no safer out here than you are in there. I'll take you someplace safe, I promise."

A timely shiver passed through Lydia's frame, and she nodded in reluctant agreement. The pair started walking back toward the workshop, not the way Lydia had come, but off to another side where the crowd of rushing elves thinned out, and the path was quite deserted. They walked in silence for a while, before Lydia spoke.

"Sigmund, you know what this man is doing. Can't you do anything?"

Sigmund sighed sadly. "I'm afraid not, miss."

"Why not? There must be more of you. You could help."

"It's not our place, miss. The elves are the keepers of the Pole."  
"But Sigmund, he's planning something that will put the entire Pole in jeopardy. Surely this affects you as well."

"With all due respect miss, if the workshop were to collapse tomorrow, my people would go back to the wild and live as we did for hundreds of years."

"So you would leave them to their fate?" said Lydia, bristling at his cold response to her plea.

"You mustn't think me callous, miss. I've enjoyed working here. I like Bernard especially. He's a good lad. But if I went into the workshop and mauled the man they call Santa Claus to within an inch of his life, what good would it do? I'd be the bear that mauled Santa, and then who would run things up here? No. It's for the elves to decide to unseat him."

Lydia nodded, forced to accept his refusal and the fact that Sigmund was right.

"If I can convince the elves to stand against him, will you and the others help us?"

Sigmund seemed to consider this for a moment. "Yes miss. If you can muster the elves against him, we will do all we can to help you."

"Thank you, Sigmund," Lydia said, accepting his conditional promise by putting her hand on his massive shoulder. A few minutes later, Sigmund and Lydia reached an empty corridor which interrupted the wall of the building. Smoke poured from a chimney above their heads, and the sweet smell of baked goods told Lydia that they stood outside the back entrance to the kitchens, where the elf-maids relentlessly toiled in their culinary work.

"This is where I must leave you, miss," said Sigmund.

"Thank you for your help, Sigmund," said Lydia, risking propriety by patting the polar bear just behind the ears. The bear declined his fluffy white head in a sort of bow and departed, leaving Lydia to walk the corridor alone and wonder when she would see Bernard and Quinton again and in what condition they would be.

* * *

**A/N:** All right, not the best chapter. But the next one will be much better I promise, with _much_ more Bernard in it. And the best part is, it's already about half done. Merry Christmas everybody, and if you don't hear from me by then, Happy New Year!


	14. If I Cannot Bring You Comfort

A/N: So sorry this took so long. First I moved to a new city, this being the first time I've been out on my own, went back to school full time, started a new job, and basically this whole year has been one giant stress test. To the reviewer who asked me back in May I think if I would have a new chapter out soon and I said yes, I cannot apologize enough. I would have had this out on Christmas Eve, but I was away from my computer and my mom's laptop wouldn't recognize my external hard drive. So this is super, super late, and I'm so sorry.

Hopefully the fact that this is probably my longest chapter yet makes up for it a bit.

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**Chapter 14: If I Cannot Bring You Comfort….  
**

"_Ow!"_

_ The exclamation of pain escaped Bernard's mouth before he could stop it._

_ "I haven't touched you yet."_

Quinton had appeared out of nowhere only a minute after their master had left the room. Having thrashed the elf worse than ever, he had left Bernard on his knees in the middle of the room, tears streaming down his face and his breath coming in painful gasps. As Bernard tried to stand and failed, a pair of hands settled on his shoulders. He flinched away on instinct, but a voice whispered, "It's all right. It's only me."

Quinton had then helped Bernard to his feet and sat him down on the bed.

"Now," he said. "Where does it hurt?"

"What?" asked Bernard, clutching one side.

"We have a few minutes, and you're not leaving this room until your wounds have been tended to. I ask you again. Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere."

Quinton scowled but finally managed to cajole Bernard into stripping down to his trousers. His entire back was scored and bruised where he had been struck with a strap of some kind, and in some places, the skin had broken and bled thickly. Beneath these numerous scars stood out in white, just visible beneath the red and purple.

"My goodness..." whispered Quinton.

"Go on. Say it," said Bernard. Quinton frowned.

"Say what?"

"That I deserve it."

"You don't deserve it! Do you not listen to anything Lydia or I tell you? You _don't_ deserve this, Bernard."

"Lydia!"

"She's fine. He tried to force himself upon her, but she escaped him, and she's fine."

"Where is she?"

"Sigmund found her half frozen outside and rescued her. He brought her to the elf maids."

"Thank goodness."

"Yes, I too am grateful she's all right. But you're not. Now, lean against the bed post."

At these words, Bernard turned white, and his entire body went rigid.

"What's wrong?"

"He says that to me. Sometimes."

Bernard's voice was barely audible as spoke, but he might as well have screamed it for the impact it made. Quinton's jaw dropped, and he felt as though a ball of ice had dropped into his stomach.

"I – Bernard, I'm so sorry."

"It's - "

"No. It's not. Just, turn around."

"Quinton -"

"Please." Quinton clamped his eyes shut in his earnestness and reluctance to engage in another battle with Bernard's stubbornness. Bernard nodded and faced away from Quinton as instructed.

The sight of Bernard's battered torso had shocked Quinton, but soon the pair fell back into their old banter.

After a brief examination of Bernard's more recent wounds, Quinton pulled out a small tin from the inner pockets of his tunic. When he pried off the lid, the mingled scents of mint and fresh pine filled the room, and as Bernard breathed it in, he felt his muscles begin to relax a bit. But as soon as something cold and slimy hit his skin, Bernard let out a not-so-manly yelp.

"What are you doing?!"

"It's a salve. It will help," insisted Quinton. Bernard felt a second attack of the substance, and the touch of Quinton's fingers over his bruises through the slime made him squirm.

"Is this really necessary?"

"No, Bernard, I'm only doing it to annoy you. Now, stay still," ordered Quinton firmly. As Bernard obeyed with a roll of his eyes, Quinton began working the salve into the worst of Bernard's wounds. After only a few moments, Bernard felt some of the pain easing away from his back, and the permeating scent of wood and mint began to sap the tension from his mind and body.

"What is that stuff?"

"It sort of works by wishing, as in 'I _wish_ we had addressed this sooner.'"

"Where didyou get it?"

"From Hamish down in the infirmary. He taught me several useful little first aid maneuvers."

"What for?"

"These things are useful when Curtis is your assistant."

"Is there anything you can't do Quinton?" This question was placed not out of admiration but exasperation.

"No. Yes! I can't whistle."

"All right, all right, I'm fine. Can we go?" said Bernard. He got to his feet and began to pull on his shirt, but he gasped and winced as the motion pulled at his battered ribs.

"Yes, clearly you are the picture of health. It's a pity the salve only works on external injuries. You're sure you're all right?"

"I'll be fine. Promise."

"Excellent. We must be going. There's no time to waste." Quinton pocketed the salve and stood. Bernard, glad to be rid of Qunton's mother-henning, headed toward the door.

"Not that way, you fool."

"Quinton, the door is the traditional way to exit a room."

"We'll be seen if we go out that way."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Of course. Don't I always?"

Bernard huffed, refusing to feed Quinton's ego, and watched him as he wandered toward the door to his closet. Bernard crossed his arms and took on the thoroughly unimpressed expression he had perfected over centuries of dealing with Quentin's various eccentric notions. He watched with a furrowed brow which began to cloud his face with confusion as Quentin pushed Bernard's clothes aside.

"Ah ha!" exclaimed Quinton, as he stepped back with a triumphant grin.

"What 'Ah hah?'"

Quinton, implacable as ever, gestured like a showman for Bernard to enter the closet. Bernard stepped inside, giving Quinton a look that plainly said "I am only humoring you" and saw for the first time the narrow door built into the back wall of the small room. It stood open now, but when it was closed, it blended in perfectly with the wood of the rest of the wall. Beyond the door was a long tunnel, with torches embedded in the walls every few dozen yards. Bernard was astounded.

"How long has this been here?"

"A while. Now come along."

"Where are we going?"

"To see Lydia, of course."

"Where is she? Are you sure she's okay?"

"Yes, she's fine." Something in Quinton's expression gave Bernard pause.

"What?"

"You should know. He tried to force himself upon her," said Quinton hesitantly. Upon seeing the look of horror take over Bernard's face, he hastened to add,"But she escaped him, and she's fine. Sigmund found her half frozen outside and rescued her. He brought her to the elf maids. Now come on."

They took off at a brisk pace, but not quite a run. Quinton expressed a need for silence, despite the obvious secrecy of their route, but Bernard suspected that Quinton wanted to do Bernard no further injury with arduous running. For once, Bernard did not object to his friend's concern. They ran through the tunnel, turning this way and that at Quinton's lead. Bernard grew more puzzled by the moment, and the fact that Quinton seemed to know exactly where he was going only raised his curiosity. Where did these tunnels come from? How long had they been here? Who built them? Bernard had his suspicions but kept them to himself as Quinton led him around corners and uphill and downhill. Eventually, they came to another door. Quinton opened this and ushered Bernard inside.

The scene before him was blessedly familiar. The warmth of many fires crackling within ovens and the sweet smell of things baking wafted over him. Elf maids in little tiaras and pointed princess hats darted this way and that as they tended the ovens, but each one turned and gave him a friendly smile as they passed. The only stationary figure in the room sat on a stool in front of a fire roaring in its own hearth. At the sound of the door closing behind Quinton, the figure turned to face him.

At the sight of him, Lydia rose from her chair and threw her arms around him. Bernard gasped as her embrace tightened over his battered ribcage and immediately regretted it. The exclamation of pain did not escape Lydia's notice, and she pulled away.

"You're hurt!" she said, her face contorted with worry.

"I'll be fine," said Bernard, wishing strangely that she was closer to him once more. Lydia looked over at Quinton, who nodded solemnly. Bernard was telling the truth.

Lydia's gaze turned back to Bernard. Pity and concern flickered in her pearlescent eyes as they took in the sight of him. His chest heaved in quick and shallow breaths, as though the simple intake and outtake of air pained him. His clothes hung loose and rumpled over his frame. She put her hands on his cheeks and looked over his face, his limp curls, his weary eyes. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her in a gentle embrace, now mindful of his injuries.

Bernard had never been embraced in this way before, but he put his arms, rather awkwardly he thought, around her waist. He saw in his mind her face as they were torn apart, the terror in her eyes only for him as she was dragged away to her terrible fate, and he held her tighter. His face rested against the crown of her head, and he breathed in deeply, ignoring the tug at his ribs as he took in the scent and softness of her hair.

They remained that way for several long moments, until Quinton coughed quietly into his hand. Bernard and Lydia looked around and released each other.

"Now," began Quinton. "Shall we crack on?"

Quinton looked about him and found two more chairs and set them beside Lydia's in front of the fire.

"Do sit down," he said, as though he were a businessman about to conduct a meeting among investors. Bernard and Lydia both hesitated.

"We have a little time."

"What are you talking about? He must be looking for us."

"Not yet. Not himself anyway. He's currently in the infirmary with a fractured patella."

"What?"

"Our dear master seems to have broken his kneecap."

Quinton sent a suggestive glance in the direction of Lydia, who looked sheepishly toward her shoes.

"Did you really do that?" Bernard asked her incredulously. She looked up at him, her grey eyes fearful, and nodded.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," said Lydia. Bernard's expression of incredulity softened into one of wonder as he looked at her.

"You're amazing," he blurt out.

"Yes," interjected Quinton. "Word of what you've done is spreading through the Pole like wildfire. The elves know now that there is someone here willing to stand up to him."

"What can she do, Quinton?" asked Bernard, taking his eyes of Lydia to cast an annoyed look at the inventor. "You want her to kill him?"

"She could help us unite against him."

"How many times do I have to-"

"Why are we even discussing this?"

Lydia's voice cut through their argument like sharpened steel.

"I thought you wanted to help."

"What I want is to know why you need help in the first place. How did this happen?"

Bernard and Quinton looked at each other as though they had never even thought of this before, as though the routine of terror had become so normal, they almost couldn't remember things being different.

"Well surely he cannot always have been this way."

"Well, no," attempted Quinton. "It hasn't always been this way, rather he hasn't – that's to say, it's a bit complicated – Bernard, you explain it! This is your area."

Bernard was about to argue that time was not on their side and they really ought to hide Lydia somewhere, but he saw the expectant look on Lydia's face and sighed.

"There is a clause," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"A contract of sorts which binds a mortal man to the position," explained Bernard.

"I don't understand," said Lydia.

Bernard took several deep breaths, as though preparing for a long speech for which he had forgotten his notes. He then began to slowly explain the clause which bound one mortal man after another to the magical post, the symbolism behind the coat and the sleigh, and their connection to the magic of the Pole.

"So the coat is enchanted then?" asked Lydia, when Bernard's lecture came to an end.

"As good a word as any."

"And it's the source of the magic?"

"Not exactly. The coat sort of ties him to it."

"So any drunken louse can find the coat, or steal it, and simply walk in and take over?"

"I always did think that was a rather poorly thought out arrangement," said Quinton, looking over his calloused fingers.

"May I hear it through once more?" asked Lydia.

Bernard repeated the Clause once again.

"'Accident or design?' What does that mean?"

"It means he must maintain his position until he is incapacitated either in an accident of some sort or…." Bernard's voice trailed off as he found himself unwilling to speak aloud the alternative.

"Or?"

"Or he's killed," said Quinton.

"Murdered, you mean?" said Lydia slowly, letting the words sink into the air syllable by syllable.

"Murdered. Assassinated. Eradicated. Exterminated. Dispatched…."

"Yeah, we get it," said Bernard, bringing Quinton's recitation to an end. "What are we talking about here? We're talking about killing Santa."

"No. I will not have any elf commit murder," said Lydia.

"Well, we need to do something," insisted Quinton. "All of our lives are in jeopardy now."

"Killing him cannot be our only option."

Silence settled over them for a few moments as the conspirators all pondered their situation.

"What if we found a replacement?" said Lydia finally. "Someone willing to take the position from him?"

"It's not just you two he wants. He stands to make a fortune from this deal. He's not going to just step down now."

"The elves must rally against him," said Lydia.

"Good luck with that," Bernard scoffed.

"Sigmund said that he and his fellows would help if the elves stood up against him. They won't be alone. They must do something."

Bernard frowned skeptically and shook his head. Conspiracies, last stands, and rebellions were beyond him. They were toymakers, not rabble rousers. What chance did they have?

"We have time," said Quinton. "And we have allies. That's a start. The first thing we need to do is find out when he plans to do this terrible thing."

"How are we supposed to do that?" asked Bernard.

"You may leave that to me."

"How will you find out?" said Lydia.

"He has special powers."

"I have my methods," insisted Quinton, pointedly ignoring Bernard's sarcasm.

"But he knows now you've thrown your lot in with us," said Lydia.

"Lydia's right, Quinton. He'll just be waiting for you to try something now."

"It's the two of you I'm worried about. Orders are to seize you both on sight. You both need to leave."

"And go where?"

"I think the best thing would be for you to go to England. Would your uncle be opposed to hosting Bernard for a time?"

"I don't think he would object at all."

All this time, Bernard had begun shaking his head, his curls bobbing beneath his hat.

"I can't just leave."

"You have to!" Quinton held up a hand as Bernard was about to interrupt. "Your safety is more important."

A door slammed open somewhere nearby. A cacophony of voices resounded outside the kitchen, but one familiar roar sent a chill through the three conspirators.

"WHERE ARE THEY?! I know they're in here! Where are they?!"

"Go!" urged Quinton, grabbing both Lydia and Bernard by an arm and lifting them from their seats.

"How did he find us?" asked Lydia in a shaky voice.

"It doesn't matter now. Just go!"

"I can't-" began Bernard.

"You must! Go now!"

The elf maids stopped and stared at the door with terror on all their little faces. Their trays shook in their hands as bang after bang sounded against the door. Judy walked over to the three, and put her hand on Bernard's arm, and tried not to show the fear in her eyes.

"We'll be fine, Bernard. Just go."

Bernard looked at Lydia, who looked back at him and said nothing, though her face showed that she wanted him to escape just as much as she would stand by him if he insisted on staying.

"Take my hand," he said.

Their palms met, and their fingers locked together. Quinton disappeared behind the door from whence he had come, and Bernard and Lydia vanished into the air, just as the doors to the kitchen burst open to reveal their irate pursuer, his face red with murderous rage as he stared about the perfectly normal hustle and bustle of the busy kitchen.

* * *

A/N: Moving right along with the plot. The next chapter should be a bit shorter and less plot-y so hopefully it won't take me as long.

I also want to say, I appreciate all the reviewers who have expressed understanding with the pacing of my updates. Actually, I appreciate all my reviewers, so keep 'em coming please. It's good to know people are still interested in this story.

Late Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year if I don't see you!


	15. Then At Least I Bring You Hope

I really want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story all these years. I started this when I was a sophomore in high school. A week ago, I graduated from college. That said, I am bound and determined to finish this story, no matter how long it takes. It will be done. I am taking a year off before I go to graduate school, and I plan to get a lot of writing done, including this story. I really don't want to be working on this when I'm 30.

To all my readers and reviewers, I appreciate every single one of you.

(Rated T for what might be disturbing content.)

* * *

**Chapter 15:** ….Then at Least I Bring You Hope

_Bernard stalked the factory floor. Every now and then, he barked an order at a few overexcited young elves to stop chattering and get back to work. The new Santa would arrive today. He could sense it, like a cold itch at the base of his skull. Bernard had felt it many times, though he knew not from where it came. As Head Elf though, Bernard always knew when one Santa had been replaced with another_

_ Bernard was not looking forward to it. Not that he had been overly fond of the last Santa. Bernard's job involved introducing the new Santa to his duties and getting him settled into the position before he took over. For Bernard, this meant starting over from scratch with a new man who knew nothing about the job and likely believed it all to be a myth in the first place. In his experience, the new arrivals were stubbornly incredulous and obstinate, and Bernard had no way of knowing whether or not this state of mind would persist once the new Santa took over. _

_ A heavy creaking resounded from overhead. The icy platform lowered from the ceiling, bringing the sleigh with it. Bernard leaned against a gilded support beam and crossed his arms. He felt a nudge at his elbow, and he looked down. The reindeer had returned to their stalls, and Donder nuzzled his sleeve. He scratched her behind an ear as he watched the sleigh descend. Once it landed, Bernard pushed away from the beam and walked toward it, provoking a mild growl of indignation from the reindeer. _

_ As Bernard approached the sleigh, he felt a chill run through his blood, and his skin prickled with foreboding. He tried to shake off the unfamiliar emotion and failed. The sleigh had taken some damage in the night. The paint was badly worn and scratched, and in some places, chips of wood were missing, as though the sleigh had collided with something. Bernard pushed aside his concern for the vehicle. The elves responsible for its cleaning and maintenance would see to any required repairs. He turned his attention instead to the sleigh's only occupant._

_ The man who currently wore the ancient, magical coat stood up in the sleigh and looked around, his head turning this way and that slowly on its neck, like a crocodile beneath swamp water. The man caught sight of the elves bustling around him but said nothing, just stared. One of them, a little she-elf in a gold and lavender frock named Annabelle, curtsied before him, and he merely curled a lip at her. Annabelle scurried away, a hurt look on her face, and Bernard stepped forward._

_ "Hey."_

_ The man in the sleigh jerked his head in Bernard's direction as though he had been yanked out of a stupor. He regarded Bernard with bleary eyes and a scowling face. Bernard refused to be intimidated by the man's expression. He had experienced worse. Now that the man had turned toward him, though, Bernard got a decent look at him, and the chill returned to his blood. _

_ The coat had a six inch long gash in it. The fabric around the tear was a deeper, darker red than the rest of the coat, and reddish-brown flecks stained the white fur trim. Bernard frowned and felt himself swallow hard._

_ "Who're you?"_

_ The man's voice was rough and gravelly, like shards of glass in a wound. Bernard couldn't take his eyes off the tear and the combination of red on white that should never have caused him this deep a feeling of dread. _

_ "What're you lookin' at?"_

_ Bernard forced himself to tear his eyes away from the tattered suit and look at the man's face. Burst blood vessels spread across his cheeks and nose like roadways across a countryside. His teeth were yellowed, and his greying facial hair was unkempt. He reeked of something foul and fermented that Bernard could not place. _

_ Bernard straightened his shoulders and reminded himself that he had a job to do. _

_ "I'm Bernard."_

_ The man looked Bernard up and down. His lip curled again as though what he saw offended him, and his eyes roved about elsewhere. The sight of the factory and all the elves happily toiling away did nothing to improve his mood or expression._

_ "Where the hell'm I?"_

_ "This is the North Pole."_

_ The man's lip curled even more until he resembled a mad, angry dog. _

_ "The hell're you talkin' 'bout?"_

_ Bernard's eyes narrowed a bit at the man's hostile demeanor. Normally the new Santa's were filled with disbelief, incredulity, even fear, but this man seemed strangely belligerent. Bernard straightened his spine. _

_ "Follow me. I'll explain."_

_ As Bernard led the strange man through the factory, he attempted to explain their purpose there, the clause, and what the man's duties would be. Bernard talked quickly, watching the man peer around him nervously, as though the elves were like insects fleeing from underneath an overturned log and he couldn't decide which to step on first. Bernard brought them to a halt in front of what would be the man's office. He stopped looking about suddenly as though he had just started paying attention to what Bernard was saying. _

_ "The hell're you on about, boy?!"_

_ Bernard tried very, very hard not to be annoyed. He forced himself to not lose his patience and started over. He continued to explain as clearly as he could all the man needed to know. As he talked, the man's face grew into an undeniable sneer. _

_ "You get paid to do this?"_

_ "We have no use for money, Sir," said Bernard, taken aback. "We make toys to be delivered to children all over the world on Christmas Eve. We've always done it."_

_ "Lemme get this straight," the man began. He bore the unmistakable look of a man who had stumbled across the answers to all his problems, though his face bore no good will. It brought back the chills the warmth of the factory had driven away. "You do my bidding. And you don't get paid. Do you know what that makes you?"_

_ "Sir?" Bernard did not like the thread this conversation was following. The man grinned malevolently. _

_ "You're a slave."_

_ Bernard felt as though his heart had fallen into his stomach. _

_ "Excuse me?"_

_ "You're a slave, boy. All of ya. You're slaves. And you're mine now."_

_ "You don't understand-" _

_ "What're ya gonna do? Leave? Look atcha! Pointed ears. Those sparkly faces. You're all a bunch of freaks! Leave and you're nothin' but a bunch of street urchins. What's up here's all you got."_

_ "This isn't right," said Bernard. He felt as though he had stumbled into a nightmare. "This is wrong. It went wrong some how. You shouldn't be like this."_

_ "Shut up!"_

_ The man grabbed hold of Bernard's arm in a terrible grip. His crooked hands grasped the limb in a vice and sent a shock of pain through Bernard's body. _

_ "You don't talk like that to me, boy," he growled. The terrible man shook Bernard with his sinewy hand. "I'm gonna straighten all of you up. Show you who's boss around here. Startin' with you."_

_ The man grabbed Bernard by his shoulders and bared his teeth in a yellow, broken snarl. He held him fast in an unbreakable grip. Bernard struggled but could not free himself as the the man dragged him into the office and slammed the door behind them._

* * *

"Wake up now, there's a good lad."

Bernard's eyes shot open. He was not in his bedroom. Instead of the rich burgundies and greens in the gilded solitude of his bedroom, he found himself in a wide room designed with modest but welcoming comfort in mind. A cherry-wood wardrobe stood in one corner. Across it, beneath a window was a writing desk and chair. A couch stood on the other side of the room, and an armchair sat beside the bed. Both were made of the same cherry wood as the wardrobe. Their cushions were made of the red and ivory patterned toile as the curtains. These nicely complemented the ornate Persian rug which covered most of the hardwood floor, its creams and burgundies and golds expanding under the bed and almost to every wall.

Of course Bernard knew this mostly from memory. Darkness blanketed the room, but he remembered now. He was not at the Pole but in Lydia's house in England. The only light came from beside him, and a strong but gentle hand gripped his arm. Lydia's uncle William sat beside him on the bed, candlelight flickering over his kindly face. Concerned clouded the sparkle of his blue eyes and turned down the corners of his mouth. Bernard sat up. He ran a trembling hand through his damp curls and tried to slow his breathing. William Hightower gripped Bernard's shoulder in a firm but soft grip. Bernard's first impulse was to shrink away, but he resisted, finding the touch grounding. William Hightower sighed and looked upon Bernard with sad concern.

"It seems to be the common lot tonight. Lydia's having nightmares too. You dreamt of that master of yours, didn't you?"

Bernard knew his eyes betrayed him though he said nothing. He focused instead on a snag in the embroidery on his coverlet. The grey-haired man shook his head.

"I cannot abide men who treat their servants poorly, especially the children."

Bernard frowned at the snag. He was far from a child, though he could not say so now. William Hightower continued regardless.

"I have always been fond of children, though I never had any myself. I cannot bear it when others are cruel to them. Do you want to tell me about your dream?"

"I'd rather not, Sir."

William Hightower nodded in understanding.

"I just came from Lydia's room when I heard you thrashing about. I wasn't going to disturb you, but you called out in your sleep."

This seemed to be an unspoken opportunity for Bernard to divulge the subject of his disturbance. He didn't speak. A deep heavy guilt had settled on his insides knowing exactly what the subject of Lydia's nightmares was likely to be. When Bernard continued to avoid his eye, William Hightower continued.

"I am very worried about Lydia. Has something happened to her? She vanished yesterday in the woods and reappeared hours later with you in tow, the both of you pale and trembling. I know it must have been awful, because Lydia won't talk to me, and she always talks to me. And you won't either, will you?"

"It's my fault," said Bernard in a very quiet voice.

"How is it your fault?"

"I let her get involved. I should never have gotten her into this. It's all my fault." The words came rushing out of him, and he felt short of breath again. Tears came unbidden to his eyes, and he blinked furiously to ward them away. William Hightower brought up his other hand to grip both of Bernard's arms.

"No. I do not know what has happened to you and Lydia, and I need not know if you both wish it, but I do know that this is not your fault."

"You don't understand."

"I understand more than you realize. That man you work for is wicked. I don't know all he's done, but whatever has happened, it is not your fault, child."

Bernard shook his head and began to protest again, but William shushed him.

"Listen. You go back to sleep now. Everything will look better in the morning. I promise, you do not have to go back to that place. I will not make you go back there. Lydia would skin me if I did." William smiled wryly, but when Bernard did not reciprocate, he grew serious.

"Sleep now," he said firmly, pushing Bernard back. As soon as Bernard lay back in his bed, he rose and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Bernard settled back into the bed linen. He still could not stop blaming himself for what happened, or rather, nearly happened to Lydia. He thought about what her uncle had said. Could he really stay here forever? Now the prospect was not an unpleasant one. But he had a duty to perform and others to look after. He could not leave the younger elves to the fate he only meant to temporarily escape. And their were other, more terrible fates that awaited them. He had to go back, and this time, he would not take Lydia with him. As it was, he could go nowhere now. To return now would only invite capture and imprisonment upon himself. He would have to wait for word from Quinton.

Bernard closed his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep. When he woke the next day, he remembered dreaming only the first nightmare, and nothing more.

* * *

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone!

p.s. I had originally planned to include at the end of this story a list of all the chapter titles and where they come from, but now I'm thinking I should have done it at the end of every chapter. Should I go back and edit the chapter individually, or just make the list for the end? Thoughts?

Reviews give my muse wings (and she is quite sluggish, as you know.)


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